Page 62 of Mud

You’d think we’d get tired and want a night off, Taland and I. You’d think we’d need to rest, to be by ourselves, butno. Since that first date on the rooftop, I’d seen him every single night, no exception.

The more of him I saw, the more I wanted—and all the while I told myself that I was doing itfor the mission.

Even now, I tried to play it cool and waved Briar off when she wiggled her brows at me. “Just the restroom,” I muttered, and she rolled her eyes.

“Yes—and you applied your favorite blush while there, I’m sure. Extra red to make your eyes pop.” And she laughed under her breath.

I slammed my elbow to her side and kept my eyes on the whiteboard as I pulled my textbook out of my backpack. The professor would turn around soon and Briar wouldn’t be able to tease me anymore. At least not for the duration of this class.

“Who can tell me the most powerful magical disease known to Iridians?” asked the professor, and a lot of hands rose in the air.

I knew the answer, too—the Fora Fever was the worst magic could do to a person out there—but I was still trying to catch my breath, so I didn’t bother raising my hand.

“The Fora Fever, sir,” said a Whitefire girl from the first row.

“Correct—and why is it the most powerful disease we know?”

“Because the Fora cannot be isolated and grows faster than any other known bacteria. The fever it causes on a subject strengthens with any kind of magic used against it, and it kills within seven minutes so traditional antibiotics are useless,” the girl recited.

“Excellent, Miss Moneir.” The professor then proceeded to writeFora Feveron the whiteboard while I opened my textbook and focused on slowing down my heartbeat.

“There are many diseases that Iridians are capable of creating with their magic, and the worst one of all is the Fora Fever because of how fast it kills,” he said. “Even Whitefire magic cannot compete against it.”

He was right. Whitefire magic was the best healer of all, ironically, and Magical Diseases were technicallytheirdepartment. You didn’t see many Iridians of other covens work in healthcare normally, but because it was so important that we all knew what could be done to us—or what we could do to others by accident—this was one of the three classes that all seniors took no matter their color.

It was also one of my favorite subjects because we were going to learn about poisons and healing herbs, too. For some reason, I found them incredibly fascinating.

Taland normally attended, too, but they’d been planing a surprise birthday party for one of his chamber mates, and all the boys of the chamber had asked for the second part of the day off today. The principal allowed it, so long as they swore to not leave the school grounds after-hours.

“But there is one condition that a human person can be born with, or an Iridian can turn to, that is considered even darker, more powerful than the Fora Fever because of its nature. It doesn’t kill—it lives with its subject to the end of their life. It doesn’t cause pain. It doesn’t torture,” the professor explained. “What it does instead is what we callstain. It takes whichever form of chromatic magic exists in an Iridian mage and spoils it. Makes it filthy. Makes it…useless.” I flinched—goddess, that soundedawful.“Anybody want to tell me what that is?”

Again, half the class raised their hands, and this time so did I. My heartbeat was steady and I was no longer breathing heavily, so I could speak. It was one word, anyway.

But the professor picked a Greenfire boy to answer.

“Mud,” the boy said.

The professor turned around and wrote the word on the whiteboard, then underlined it.

“Mud,” he repeated. “And why do we call it that?”

“Because the disease mixes all the colors of magic into one body, turning them to a muddy brown, and rendering them useless,” the boy continued.

“Very good, my boy,” the professor beamed. “It is important to understand that those born with this condition arenotIridians. They cannot use magic, even if they do emit a signal, and their color is one that has no power, no way to leave a body, to be channeled by either the subject, an anchor, or a spell.”

Not Iridians,I wrote in my notebook, but it struck me as odd.

“What about those who are Iridian first?” I asked, then bit my tongue, afraid the professor was going to be pissed like the teachers back home that I talked without his permission. He wasn’t.

And another Blackfire girl asked another question after me, “And howwould one bestained? Why? Is it an attack spell or something?”

“I thought you were only born Mud,” said another girl near her.

“Me, too. A family of them lives near my house back home. They aredisgusting,”said a Whitefire boy to his friend. He whispered it, but I heard because they were sitting right behind me. “The things we used to do to that boy when we were kids…”

And he and his friends laughed about it.

I turned just to see their faces, know who they were. Itwasn’t often that I hated a person before I’d even laid eyes on them, but this was one of those times.

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