Page 4 of Grave Situation

Which is why, after a lunch consisting of great food and company, I take myself off to his rooms to see what tasks he has for me today. Yesterday, he had me use magic to dry a puddle of water—which is a basic task my first years should be able to complete when I’m done with them—but onlyone drop at a time. And if I went too fast, like doing two drops at once, he’d add more water to the puddle. He’s gotten this idea lately that I’m too focused on my telepathic skills and have been neglecting the finer elements of other areas of magic. He’s not completely wrong—after all, telepathy is where I have the most strength, and it’s the focus of my future mastery—but I’m not particularly enjoying these lessons.

I knock and enter without being summoned. He doesn’t always invite people in, if he’s not in the mood to be social. Before I worked that out, I would spend hours waiting in the hallway for him to return to his rooms, only to discover he’d been in there the whole time. I aspire to be like that one day.

“How are the first years?” he asks without turning from where he’s staring out the window, his white hair standing up in tufts all over his head. Until a few weeks ago, it was long. Thenone day he found it annoying and hacked it off with a letter opener.

I don’t bother to wonder how he knows it’s me. He’s a master telepath—he knows exactly who’s in this part of the building right now.

“Annoying. One of them thought he’d stirred a little eddy of air and began announcing that he was going to be a great wind mage.” I join him by the window. He has the best view, out toward the dragons’ valley. Several of them are in the air today, circling lazily. The rider recruits started training this week, and the dragons who haven’t bonded yet like to keep an eye on them in the early days, see if anyone has potential.

They don’t like it if you suggest it’s creepy and stalkerish, though. I found that out the hard way.

“And did he?”

I snort. “No. The student at the next desk dropped her copy of the curriculum. What he felt was the displaced air as it fell.”

Master shudders. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you lost that one.”

I don’t bother to reply. He knows how I feel about this—losing students is a sign of a mediocre teacher, and I will not accept mediocrity in myself.

Which is why when he turns his head and smirks at me, I know I’m going to perform whatever hideous task he’s about to assign without complaint.

But then we both turn toward the door. Someone’s approaching—someone who’s a little nervous. A knock comes a second later, and Master jerks his head at me.

I go to answer it. A fourth-year student is standing there, wringing his hands—which he stops instantly when he sees me. I recognize him—he was in the second class I ever taught. I disliked him then, and from what I’ve heard, he hasn’t improved any over the years.

He has survived, though. I’ll give him that.

“What?”

“Master Eldridge wants to see you,” he blurts.

I sigh. That came faster than expected. I was sure I’d have until dinnertime, at least. “Master?” I call over my shoulder. He’s turned back to the window.

“Go.”

When I look back at the student, he’s actually sweating. “Is there a problem?” I ask him as I step out into the hall and close the door behind me.

“No! Uh. I don’t know. I’m sure there isn’t. And if there is, it’s not my fault.”

Ah. He thinks the Dean of Students summoned me because I’m in trouble, and he’s worried I’ll punish the messenger.

“You can go.” I get a lot of satisfaction from the way he practically flees.

By the time I make my way down to Master Eldridge’s office, I’ve glared at three other students and one level-1 mage. Seeing their faces go pale as they backed away made me feel a lot better about wasting my time with this. It’s why I’m almost whistling as I stroll into the anteroom.

“You took your time,” says Preet, the dean’s assistant, a level-3 mage I’ve worked with in the past and don’t find too annoying. “Or did the student dawdle coming to find you?” She smirks. We once compared tricks for scaring students, and it forged a deep level of respect between us.

I shrug. “Probably both.”

With a little huff of laughter, she opens the door to the dean’s office. “Talon Silverbright, Master Eldridge.” I walk inside, and she closes the door in my wake.

The dean looks up from his desk. “Sit, Mage Silverbright.” His gimlet gaze bores into me as I obey, lounging in one of the chairs before his desk—the left one. It’s my favorite. I’ve beencalled here a lot over the past nine years, so I’ve had plenty of experience to judge by. “A formal complaint has been made about you.”

“I guessed as much. It came sooner than I expected, though.”

His face doesn’t change. He’s mastered the art of the grim expression, and the neat, silky fall of his shoulder-length gray hair frames it perfectly. “I’m told you suspended a student by the ankle above the chasm and threatened to drop him.”

I cast my mind back. Did I threaten to drop him? I don’t always. But yes—right after he swore at me. “That’s correct, Master Eldridge.”

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