“Lina!” Frederik shouted, lunging through the door. He pulled it shut hard enough that the ink bottle on Marcus’ table rattled.

“Why does everyone keep slamming the door?” Marcus muttered. He reached down and grabbed a paper that the gust of wind had thrown off his desk.

“Hi,” I said. “All good over here?”

“What do you mean all good… ah, you’re doing a bit!” Frederik said. He marched in and grabbed the chair facing Marcus’ desk.

“Hey,” Marcus said feebly, but then sighed and put away his quill.

Frederik carried the chair across the room and put it down next to my bed. He leaned closer, but then glanced to the side. “Oh, hi Grit. All good?”

“All good,” Grit said, giving him a wave, but he had turned back to me already.

“Am I glad to see you back again! The rest of the council is going to be livid once they hear the rumors, though.”

“Because we almost got killed on a mountain?”

“Yeah! I heard you got to fight undead for real? That’s usually only for fourth-year students. Tell me everything.”

“Skip,” I said. “Grit can tell you if you really insist.”

“I do.”

---

Ferne didn’t slam the door when she arrived half an hour later. She dragged Marcus away from listening to Grit’s story and they talked in hushed voices in the corner of the infirmary. Marcus kept glancing over his shoulder, trying to catch the part when the undead attacked us.

Frederik listened to the story, eyes gleaming and mouth half-open. He couldn’t really be that dumb, but maybe that was the way he operated. So far he had done nothing to me, and if he managed to keep guys like Fahn and Lombarte happy with the act, so be it. Fek jumped around, interrupting Grit by trying to correct the story for her or telling her to skip the boring part where the janitor slowly approached us up the path.

I kept glancing at the door instead. Fek, Frederik, Marcus, Ferne, most people I knew were already here.

“That’s when Falar collapsed face-first into the snow,” Grit said.

“He did what? Wait, I want to hear this too,” Ferne said, pushing Marcus aside to walk toward us. “Start again from the beginning.”

“No!” I shouted.

Grit ignored me.

---

I was resting my chin into my palm when the door opened one more time. Minnelil peered in, pushing the cowl off her hair.

“Hey!” Fek shouted. “You missed the story three times already. Grit is getting pretty good at telling it, but there were actually only four skeletons.”

“How would you know?” Grit said with a huff.

Minnelil smiled at them, closing the door carefully after her. Marcus had brought his chair as well, but there still weren’t enough for everyone. Fek sat on Grit’s bed and Ferne leaned against the wall next to it.

Minnelil walked over and stopped next to my bed. The way she kept smiling at everyone while avoiding looking at me was cute. The room had become quiet. Marcus said “hmm?”, but Ferne nudged him.

“I got your letter,” I said.

“Well, I did give it to you,” she said.

I spread my arms wide, flicking my right hand to invite her in.

She leaned down and wrapped one arm around my neck and shoulder, the other sliding under my arm. I patted her hair, running my fingers through it. It felt like silk, light and soft. She breathed in and her breath tickled my neck.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said softly.

“It’s okay to be back,” I said, voice muffled by my face pressed against her neck. Her hair flowed over me. I planted a kiss on the pale, smooth skin and she breathed out.

I held her for a moment. Fek grunted, probably got kicked by Grit before he could say something stupid. Minnelil patted my back, but I wasn’t ready to let go, not just yet.

A door opened and closed, and a cold breeze wafted over me.

“Hmh,” Falar said. “What is this public gathering?”

Minnelil twitched and sprang up. Grit squeaked and kicked. Fek fell off her bed, arms flailing around. Minnelil’s face was going red, but she grabbed my fingers once more and pressed them into her hand.

“You shouldn’t be up yet,” Marcus said.

“Nonsense,” Falar said. “I have mended what imbalance there was. The chattering and constant slamming of doors were fraying my nerves.”

“Admit you just wanted to join the party,” Ferne said.

Falar scoffed, looking around the room. “I only came to check whether lunch has been delivered yet.”

“Lecturer, please,” Frederik said, standing up and grabbing the chair. He pushed it toward Falar with a bow. “You must still be tired from your ordeal.”

Falar glared down at the chair, wrinkling his nose. “What I am is tired of this nonsense. The party hasn’t even started yet.”

“Um, what do you mean?” Frederik asked.

The door slammed open again, this time so hard that I thought it would snap right off its hinges.

“Oh, come on!” Marcus shouted.

A large floral armchair pushed through the door. A small pile of soggy snow rested on its seat, with water dripping onto the floor. “Is that a way to greet the Chancellor of this Academy!” the armchair shouted.

Falar rolled his eyes, pushing Frederik’s chair away from himself with two fingers. “Jextor. You’re late.”

“Well, I’m terribly sorry you left me alone to carry your armchair down a mountain filled with undead,” Jextor said, putting down the armchair in the middle of the floor and swiping the snow off it. His robe was in tatters and his other slipper was missing. “Opening the door with it was difficult, you know. It’s large.”

“It’s the perfect size,” Falar said. “And no one asked you to bring it.”

Ferne chuckled quietly, hands on her hips. “Welcome, Chancellor. It’s good to see you back unharmed.”

Marcus smiled as well, shaking his head. “Ain’t it great to see the couple back together?”

“The what?” Falar shrieked.

Jextor laughed so hard the beds rattled, throwing his head back and spraying cold water from his beard onto my face.

---

Once Jextor heard Grit had already told the story three times, he demanded to hear it as well. Falar added dry remarks about how the whole thing had been an uncharacteristic display of bluster on his part and a characteristic one on Jextor’s, but mostly seemed content to sit in his armchair, resting one leg across his knee. His skin looked healthy and tan, and Grit kept sneaking glances at him when she thought no one would notice.

Minnelil kept doing the same to me. And maybe I to her. Damn it, I had no idea what to do about any of this, so I was happy when Marcus finally told everyone to clear off and let me and Grit rest. He pushed Falar back into the quarantine room, which Falar seemed mostly happy about. Jextor kept trying to slap Falar’s back, even when Marcus said it would probably kill him in his current state.

Grit was already out like a light. Everything must have caught up to her. I yawned and bit my lower lip to hold back a second yawn. The memory hovered somewhere nearby, the fire crackling at the edge of my hearing. Now that the ward was truly gone, the darkness breathed close again.

I didn’t dare to sleep. The entity could be waiting for me there, but I had people with me here. As weird and dangerous as it felt, I did. I recalled how Minnelil’s hair and skin had smelled, of dew and life. It was a fragile smell that nevertheless cut through the stench of smoke and blood and mold. I breathed out, leaning my back against the backboard of the bed.

The screaming started and the smoke filled my lungs. I twitched awake. The infirmary was dark and quiet, the only sound Grit’s steady breathing and the small whistle her nose made with every inhale.

I clenched my fists tight and threw my legs off the bed. I was back at the Academy, so there was no need to fight against sleep. I pulled on the new black robe. Its sleeves were slightly too long and the hem touched the floor, but that wasn’t my problem. I could get Ang to adjust it later or get a new one. He would probably be elated after hearing we had left his tent in the mountains. The Bursar would probably let him live in a proper room or at least give him a discount. She had integrity, even though she seemed enraged by it herself.

I chuckled quietly and slipped out of the infirmary. The yawn stopped midway when I stepped outside. I frowned and closed my mouth, shrugging as the pressure welcomed me. It was impersonal, odorless and tasteless. The hint of mold was gone, for now. Falar had said that Jextor’s circle of light and what power the entity had used to animate all the skeletons and tigers had probably left it weakened. Otherwise our escape could have been much harder, he said, staring at the wall with his pinprick eyes.

I climbed up to the platform where I had spent my first night. The wind howled and I almost didn’t hear it anymore. I let my legs dangle, swinging them slowly in the air.

A school for necromancers.

I quieted my mind, reached out a single finger. The hook, the curve, the straight line two-thirds as long as the curve. The warmth tingled my elbow and made my nose itch as I drew the fire rune into the air. I didn’t know if I could be a mage if my nose kept itching every time I tried to channel. The rune glowed softly.

I held it with my fingers and allowed more mana to flow into it. A ball of fire warbled into life, rolling in the air. It was warm and orange against the dark blue of the night and the snow.

Magic.

The fire winked out. A weight landed on top of me, like I had been dropped into the bottom of the ocean.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” a voice whispered.