Page 63 of Mud

They’d bullied a kidjust because he was Mud?

You’re the one who’s disgusting,I wanted to say, but of course kept my mouth shut.

The professor continued.

“Silence now, class,” he said, tapping the lid of his marker to the whiteboard. “The Iridian Department of Defense decreed the law on what is calledthe Drainageforty-two years ago. We do not serve the death sentence as Iridians, but our courts can choose to sentence those who disturb our peace with the Drainage. Note that this is reserved only for the worst of criminals, and the Drainage has been used only eleven times as a punishment tool since it became legal for the IDD to perform it.”

Goose bumps crawled all over my skin.Drainage.That soundedextraawful.

“The Drainage is the process in which Whitefire magic does as the name suggests—drainsthe colors of an Iridian to such a degree that their magic becomes stained, and they become Mud. Naturally, it requires a series a fourth-degree spells, a very powerful Whitefire, and it is still very difficult to achieve. Some find the punishment cruel, while others feel it should be used more liberally—but either way, this process exists.”

It shouldn’t,I thought as I wrote in my notebook again.

“Is that the only way?” someone asked.

“And why are some people born Mud?”

“Can youundoMudness—if that’s even a word?”

“One at a time, one at a time,” the professor said. “And, no, the drainage is the safest, fastest, and most efficient way to turn someone Mud, but cases of accidental staining have been recorded throughout history, where Whitefireshave drained themselves by trying to use their magic without their anchor, or they’ve done it to loved ones, too, when the magic was too raw and impossible to put under control. Which is why it’s important, students, to never let out your magic without the guidance of an anchor and a spell. Far too dangerous.”

“Then you should start letting us have anchorsbeforewe turn eighteen,” someone from the back said in a hushed voice, and those who heard him laughed. The professor was too far away.

“We don’t know why people are born Mud—our best guess is because the magic, though stained, is always inherited, and so Mud parents would naturally conceive a Mud child, as is the case with Iridians.”

Doesn’t that make them Iridians as well?I wondered, but I didn’t ask, figuring the answer would be somewhere in the book.

“And no, Ms. Bali, you cannot undo Mudness. In theory, it is possible tocleansea Mud’s magic, give it back its original color, but one would need incredible power to achieve it. Alas, it is illegal to do so in practice. It is illegal to perform any kind of spell on a Mud because the results are too unpredictable. There is a good chance that the Iridian himself would stain his or her magic in the process.” The whole class flinched visibly, and so did I. “We as Iridians are always free to give and take magical energy from each other, even mages from different covens—but never with the Mud.”

“That’s fucked up,” Briar said from my right. “Can you imagine? And I thoughtIhad it bad for being born in a poor family.”

I thought I had it bad for being born in arichfamily, too!

Yet there were those who were stained, who had nomagic at all, or whatever they had was useless,brown,filthy. For the first time in my life—and only for a couple of seconds—I was happy to have been born as Madeline Rogan’s granddaughter.

I’d known about the Mud my whole life, of course, but never really came into contact with any of them, now that I thought about it. Which didn’t surprise me. Mud were considered the lowest of the low in society, treated worse than elves and orcs. Of course, none of them would have had the chance to even get close to my grandmother or the places she took us to, the places where we were allowed to hang out.

Even so, I felt bad for them. It wasn’t our fault how we were born, or who our families were, or what color our magic was, or if we were born human or a different species completely. It wasn’t fair that they’d have to suffer for something that wasn’t their choice. The book said that we weren’t allowed to heal Muds at all, not even with a spell because we had no idea what it would do totheirbody or ours.Nonsense, I thought, but what did I know?

The professor went on with the lecture, and I continued to take notes, and when class ended, I went straight to the cafeteria to eat because I was starving. No more classes for today, but tomorrow was Tuesday. We had six classes on Tuesdays, so that meant a lot of running around the school to get to class, and it also meant less time to sneak in make out sessions during breaks.

That was starting to bother me so much. Tuesdays had become my least favorite day of the week all of a sudden because of it, and Taland agreed.

I finished my homework in record time that day to go meet him near the main entrance when they were done with the surprise party. We met around a corner where thestatue of a phoenix sat all alone and forgotten. The little corridor behind it led you nowhere, so it was empty most of the time.

He’d started to text me—don’t rush, sweetness. I’m waiting. Don’t rush,and then every five minutes after,seriously, don’t rush, it’s not like I might die if I don’t see you soon. Take your time, don’t rush…

The same text over and over, and it never failed to make me smile until I practically flew out the door half an hour before curfew began.

I found him sitting on the phoenix’s claws playing with a coin between his fingers. He was always playing with something when we weren’t together, I’d noticed. His smile was like a miniature sun when he saw me, and mine hurt my damn cheeks. I looked at his face and suddenly I was soaring. Reborn. On top of the world.

He stood up and spread his arms, and I ran like a little kid and jumped him, locking my arms and legs around him like I hadn’t seen him in ages. The sound of his chuckle in my ear washed away every other thought and feeling inside me.

From this moment on and until I went back to my room, all I’d see and hear and smell was him.

“Twenty-three minutes. That’s better than last Tuesday,” he teased, and kept his arm around my waist and his hand under my ass to keep me there, even when I unlocked my ankles from around his hips.

“I had a lot of homework to do. Not my fault you have your classmates do it for you.” He said theyjumped at the opportunityto finish his homework for him, but he never quite specified why. One of these days I was going to force him to tell me how he did it, though I was pretty sure he paid them. Some girls in my class went around offeringtheir homework services for a price, and I’d have honestly gone for it if I wasn’t supposed to pretend that my family had below average yearly income.

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