Recipe for Magic (4 page)

He already knew he wouldn’t return. The smell of incense and perfume was thick and choking in his throat as he made his way hurriedly back to his rooms. He stayed there right through supper. No one came looking for him.

Just before bed, he sat down at his desk to write his weekly letter home, his pen poised above the paper. What could he say? Not only had he failed to speak to the Oracle, but his Paired hated him. It was one frustration after another.

Dear Father,
he wrote, biting his lip.
Preparation for the Trial is going well. I am confident that you will be pleased with my showing. My fellow students are in awe of the special Pairing the Oracle bestowed upon me, and I am eager to meet the challenge. Please give Mother my love. Do you know yet if you will be able to attend?

Connor stared at the page, then made angry slashes through the last sentence. He crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it across the room before taking out a fresh sheet to start again.

That night, like the other nights, Connor dreamed of drowning. Only this time, it was Landyn’s hands that held him under.

T
HE
NEXT
few days brought a new routine to Connor’s life. It was a very solitary routine.

He woke up late enough in the mornings that his dorm mates had already gone to class, then got himself ready, and skipped first period. History of Magic
was boring, anyway, and he’d only been able to endure it before because he shared it with Elisa and Dugan.

Once he’d skipped first period, he figured why not, and skipped the rest of his classes, which didn’t seem to matter to his teachers since no one said a word to him. None of his friends would talk to him, and Connor found himself for the first time having to contend with his own silences.

Sometimes he took dinner in the kitchens, where he was a familiar face to the head cook, Madame Josephina, and her assistant, Scuttle.

Gnawing on a hunk of cheese he’d swiped from the chopping board, he hopped up on the counter and surveyed the busy kitchen. He watched the staff bustle back and forth as they readied for the evening meal. The kitchen was divided into three large sections and had a staff of fifteen working in each. Connor stayed in the section nearest the door. It made for a quick getaway when it looked like he was about to be asked to help. Sometimes he wasn’t quick enough.

“You!” Madame Josephina said, pointing a spatula at him. “Connor Roth, are you skulking in my kitchens yet again?”

Connor hunched his shoulders. “I was just leaving—”

“Like blazes you were,” Josephina snorted. “Get over here and use those young shoulders to help me lift this pot. I swear they make iron heavier every year. Well? What are you waiting for?”

Connor hurried over and grabbed the indicated pot, straining to lift it onto the high table in the center of the workspace. When Josephina was satisfied with its position, she used the spatula to swat his backside. It stung even through the robes.

“Hey!” he protested, rubbing the spot.

“You think you’re done? There’s no freeloading in my kitchen. Make yourself useful and chop these carrots, and I’ll see about feeding you.”

Connor picked up the knife dubiously. “Don’t you have anything you need set on fire?”

“Chop,” Josephina ordered. She plunked down a bowl of peeled potatoes and began dicing them.

They worked in silence for several minutes. The rhythmic
thwack
of their knives was soothing.

“You’ve been underfoot more than usual. Haven’t seen your lady friend hanging off your arm, either. She seemed to find the kitchens too common for her taste.”

Connor glanced sideways at her. “She isn’t my lady friend anymore.”

“Hmph,” Josephina said, not looking up from her work. “More fool her.”

The crash and clang of kitchenware echoed from another area, followed by the faint sound of people talking and Scuttle’s grating cackle.

“It’s been an exciting week, so I hear,” Josephina said.

Connor tensed and barely missed slicing his finger. “Yeah.”

“Not that I ain’t grateful for the extra pair of hands, but shouldn’t you be spending time with your Paired, working toward the Trial? It’ll be upon us before we know. Scuttle already has half the menu planned, bless the old worrier.”

Connor scowled down at his hands. “It’s hard to do that when your Paired doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

Josephina made a noncommittal noise. “Have you given him a reason to feel different?”

“I offered to work together!” Connor said, bringing his knife down with extra force. A piece of carrot flew across the room.

“With all gentle grace, I’m sure,” Josephina replied mildly.

“It’s not my fault he’s got his robes in a twist.”

Connor was the one who’d lost his girlfriend, his friends, and his status all in one fell swoop. On top of all that, the Oracle expected them to force their opposing elements to work together. If the Oracle was so smart, it should have realized the ridiculous nature of the task.

Josephina shook her head. “You keep chopping until that noggin of yours comes to a realization. I got plenty of vegetables, even for a lad as dense as you.”

Connor ducked his head, blinking hard. Great, now even she was against him.

He heard an exasperated sigh. “Look at me.” Josephina’s stare was hard. “You are a bright, clever boy, but you must learn to tuck your pride away. Think about your future. I believe you’ll do great things, Connor, but no one said that you must do them alone. There’s no shame in asking for a hand if you stumble. Now, open that cupboard to your left and grab the cheesecloth sack. I’ve put some fruits, cheese, and hard meats inside. I’ll not prepare anything special for you. You can cook it yourself.”

She scratched heavily at her large nose and went back to dicing potatoes. Connor watched in morbid fascination as she used those same fingers to dig around in the metal bowl, remove another peeled potato, and set it on the cutting board. He decided he was much happier with the contents of the sack in the cupboard.

“I’ve finished the carrots,” Connor said.

Josephina inspected his work and gave an approving snort. “Looks well enough. If you fail the Trial, there might be a place for you in the kitchens.”

Connor barked out a laugh. He was never more grateful that she refused to coddle him or treat him like a child. “Thanks, Josephina,” he said.

“Away with you,” she replied, waving her hand.

A
FTER
HE
left the kitchen with a full belly, he holed up in the library until late in the evening, and this became his pattern over the next few days.

He sat at a secluded table in the back, pretending to study but mostly feeling sorry for himself, and waited until Madame Lorenzi kicked him out. This late, he could be sure that he wouldn’t run into anyone on the way to his room.

On the fourth day of his new exile, he sat staring at the open page of his textbook with the words blurred, contemplating how each ticking second of the clock brought him closer to the hour of the Trial and his certain doom. He thought about leaving school altogether and striking out for the Gloomwood. If he could bring down a Great Beast on his own, maybe no one would care that he’d failed the Trial.

Or maybe Josephina was right. He probably could try harder with Landyn. He could have been nicer when he asked for help. It wasn’t Landyn’s fault the Oracle had finally succumbed to the incense and wine. He sighed and put his head down on the table, turning until his cheek was pressed against the cool page. The paper beneath his cheek was so thin that it stuck to his skin. He watched listlessly as students began to trickle out of the room.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” Landyn said, sitting down next to him at the study carrels. “You look pathetic.”

“I’m not hiding,” Connor mumbled into the tabletop. He had his head pillowed on his arms. “I’m making a strategic retreat.”

Landyn let out a snort of laughter. “You can’t avoid your classes forever.”

Connor lifted his head from the desk, wincing as he heard a tearing noise. He reached up and pulled the torn piece of paper from his cheek. “How do you know I haven’t been to class?”

Landyn gave him a funny look. “Because I’m in your classes, Connor.”

“You are?”

“Yes.” Landyn’s mouth gave a quick curl, but his eyes were flat. Connor wasn’t the best at reading people, but he got the impression he’d hurt Landyn with his answer. Then again, Landyn didn’t like him much anyway.

“How many classes do we share?”

Landyn let out a small, amused huff. “Nearly all of them, except for Divination. I don’t have any use for it, so I got the headmaster to give me an extra study period.”

“You asked to have an extra study period?”

“Not all of us possess your great power. We require additional study to perfect our spells.”

“Sounds terrible,” Connor said. “Glad I don’t have to worry about it.”

“Indeed,” Landyn said. “Lucky for you that you weren’t overly burdened with intellectual curiosity.”

“I’ll say,” Connor replied. “As far as I’m concerned, a strong enough fire spell solves most problems.”

“I see now why my mother says she always has a headache after dealing with your father. You’re very alike.”

“Funny, I haven’t heard my father mention your mother. Doesn’t sound like she makes much of an impression.”

“Or your father knows to keep his mouth shut about his betters,” Landyn said sweetly.

Connor glared, tamping down the instinctive anger when someone criticized his father. He could feel his magic licking furious flames up his ribcage, burning across his shoulders and down his arms. He knew some of what he was feeling must be apparent on his face.

Landyn grimaced and looked down at his book, clearing his throat. “Anyway, perhaps tomorrow you can sit with me in class. It’s not as though my reputation will suffer.”

“You don’t have a reputation.”

“Exactly,” Landyn said with a thin smile. “I’m far too intelligent to bother with juvenile pissing contests.”

“I think you mean popularity contests.”

“No, I don’t. It’s the same thing, as far as I’m concerned. Our fellow students are so preoccupied with the latest gossip, the next tournament, or their paramour of the week that they haven’t given any thought to what our lives will be like once we graduate.”

“And you have?” Connor asked. He propped his head on his hand, watching the animated way Landyn spoke. Maybe he’d been hasty in writing Landyn off. There was something almost captivating about him as he warmed to his subject.

“Obviously. There’s a whole world of spellwork out there. I intend to use my magic to do some good, like my mother and father. Did you know the southern territories are experiencing a severe drought? I can use my powers to help them find water underground. There are reports of Great Beast attacks increasing across the kingdoms. We need mages to fight them, but we also need mages to repair the damage the beasts leave behind. They killed a wyvern at Ferndell Lake just this week, but its body fell in the reservoir, so my mother had to spend days removing the poison and cleansing the water so it would be safe.”

“Your mother is a King’s Mage,” Connor said, suddenly remembering. He sat up a little straighter.

Landyn looked down his nose at Connor, clearly unimpressed. “Yes. She’s been on the Council longer than your father.”

“I heard standards were lower in the beginning,” he said, unable to resist needling Landyn.

Landyn’s eyes narrowed, and the air went cool and wet like a deep cave. “Say that again?”

Connor gave Landyn a wide grin. “What’s the matter, Glendower? You can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”

“I can take it just fine,” Landyn snapped, and then went violently red for some reason and wouldn’t meet Connor’s eyes.

Connor’s cheeks flushed in sympathy. He became abruptly aware of their legs pressed together under the desk, Landyn’s bony knee digging into his thigh through their robes.

“Uh, maybe we should set up a practice schedule. If you still want to work together,” Connor said awkwardly. He leaned back in his chair and made a wide gesture with his hands. “My social calendar has recently opened, so I thought we could meet a few nights a week. We’ll need to cast small spells at first to get used to how our magic interacts. Then we can move to full conjuring.”

“Hmm,” Landyn said, tapping his chin. “Should we use the arena? I have a key to one of the smaller practice rooms.”

Connor raised his eyebrows. He didn’t have his own key. “How’d you manage that?”

“I told you, I have an extra study period. I use it to practice my spellwork, so Headmaster Relvin let me have a key to one of the rooms since I’m there so often.”

“Oh,” Connor said. That must be why he’d never noticed Landyn in the arena. “I thought you didn’t practice in the arena because the spellcasting was too intense.”

“Of course you did,” Landyn said, rolling his eyes. “We can meet there and work on our spells. The space is big enough that you could conjure quite a large dragon. Eventually.”

“I could conjure it right now,” Connor said, wiggling his fingers.

“Probably best not in the library,” Landyn said, though it gave Connor a thrill to see that Landyn couldn’t keep from smiling. “Any dragon would still not be as fierce as Madame Lorenzi. I think her spectacles help focus her hatred when she glares.”

Connor laughed long and loudly enough that several nearby students hissed at him to shut up, and Landyn looked quietly pleased with himself until Madame Lorenzi arrived, snorting angrily, and kicked them out.

“We should turn in for the evening,” Landyn said, shifting from foot to foot outside the library’s large, oak doors.

“Yeah,” Connor replied. He scratched his chin and took a deep breath.
Man up, Roth
, he told himself.

“Listen, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for how I acted. I hope… I hope we can be friends. We’re stuck together, after all. It would be a shame to waste it on hating each other.”