Page 22 of A Heart of Bluestone

Neatly, he arranges his books and pencils beside me, making a sort of divider down the middle of the table, like my things have germs he won’t contaminate himself with.

I scoff. “Partner up with your friends, then. Go back to Landon.”

Dray doesn’t look at me. He sinks into his chair, and even that slumped posture looks elegant on him. He stares ahead at the front of the class, his tone undisturbed, “Boy, girl.”

I frown at him for a heartbeat, then turn my gaze around the classroom.

He’s right.

The layout has changed.

James and Courtney still sit together at the mahogany desk closest to Master Welham, and behind them, Oliver and Serena are huddled together, paying no attention to anything but the paper my brother scribbles on.

Mildred has moved to sit beside Landon.

And that leaves me for Dray.

Because no matter how much he loathes me and what I am, I am still of elite blood, I am a Craven, and an aristo.

Dray would pick me as a partner over a half-breed or a made one any day. The guy is as breedist as they come.

Master Welham shouts my focus back to him. His purple hands rest on his belly. “You may begin!”

Startled, I clench my fist around a pencil and study the rest of the class. Heads dip all around me, and everyone starts to copy the notes from the chalkboard.

I copy the headline.

‘DRAUGHT OF THE UNDEAD’

A lethal poison, one that someone like me could never master, even if I had magic in me.

Everyone has a talent, their print. We can study other skills, practice them even, but by nature we each excel at just one particular magic.

Mother excels at numerus—to manipulate anything with numbers, which might sound basic, but when you have witnessed appointment times change at salons, or flight departures altered under her whispers, it’s undeniably convenient.

Father’s print is a little older than that. Rarer.

Alchemy.

It’s a talent my brother has inherited.

I have seen Father, with just one ritual, transform puddle water into a single gold bar. He did it for my eleventh birthday, a little parlour trick to impress me, and it did.

I still have that gold bar, tucked away in the white trunk with the flowers poorly painted all over it, a little craft project from the days I had a governess who tried to keep me entertained.

Alchemy and numerus, it explains our never-changing aristos status. Hard to fall out of wealth with those prints on hand.

If I got to pick one, it wouldn’t be numerus. Wouldn’t be alchemy, either, no matter how important it might be.

I don’t quite know what I would pick.

Maybe Serena’s print.

She has perfected illusion. She can manipulate just about anything, from sight to sound to smell.

I could stand in front of her and not recognize her at all if she’s manipulated the fineness of her nose, or deflated her lips, or lightened her hair. And it’s not just her appearance she can change. I once saw her transfigure Landon into a first-year boy. Lasted just fifteen minutes, but the grand parlour was buzzing about it.

Asta can do it, too. Illusion. It’s just not as good as Serena’s. I think Asta is still stuck on sound. That’s as much as she can do.

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