Page 5 of Grave Situation

He heaves a huge, put-upon sigh. “I thought we’d agreed you wouldn’t do that again. Not on the first day, at least.”

“But it’s so effective.”

“For you, perhaps.Ihad to waste forty minutes listening to a tirade about what a monster you are. Not to mention this meeting.” He gestures between us.

I lean forward. “About that… what if, next time, instead of us having this meeting, you just send a note to let me know there’s been a complaint? It would save us both so much effort. Not that I don’t enjoy your company,” I tack on as his brows lower.

“Talon, there are days when I could quite cheerfully strangle you.”

I nod, returning to my previous slumped posture. “I get that a lot.”

“And no, I can’t send a note. The academy rules require me to meet in person with any instructor about whom a complaint is made.”

“You know, there’s an easy solution to that.”

His smile is mean. “Nice try. I’m not removing you as an instructor.”

It’s my turn to sigh. “Haven’t I been punished enough? It’s beenfiveyears. At least let me move on to teaching one of the older classes.” They’re marginally less annoying.

To my surprise, he says, “That was my original plan, but you’ve proved too valuable with the first years. Did you know that you’re the only teacher in the history of the academy who’sneverlost one?”

I blink. “The only one?” Considering how far back the academy’s history goes, that makes me a fucking legend. Dammit. Now he’s never going to let me go.

“The only one. I’ve already set people to checking if we can change the rules to keep you here once you achieve mastery.” It’s only the twinkle deep in his eye that assures me he’s not serious.

I hope.

“Maybe Master Samoine was right, and it wouldn’t be so bad if I lost one,” I mutter. That earns me a full-blown laugh. I’m so glad somebody’s amused.

“All right, then. I’ve called you in, advised you of the complaint, and heard your response. Consider this your official slap on the wrist. Now go, so I can do some work.” The dean goes back to the papers on his desk, and I stand to leave.

Halfway to the door, I turn back. “Who made the complaint?”

He lifts his head and meets my gaze. “What makes you think it wasn’t the student you dangled?”

Remembering the look on Mr. Baby Merchant’s face—I don’t use their names until they’ve earned it—I shake my head. “No. He’s either plotting my homicide or planning to excel just to spite me, but he wouldn’t have come running to whine about me.” There was too much determination there.

With a faint smile, the dean nods. “The student’s name was Lenora Gill.”

Ah. Farm girl. I guess her shattered ideals couldn’t cope with the idea of someone like me being a mage. Lucky for her, I don’t hold a grudge… well, not against my students, anyway.

CHAPTER THREE

The weeks pass,and late summer quickly turns to autumn in the City of Knowledge—damn that higher elevation—and teaching my students how to master fire becomes a looming priority. Not thatIcare if they’re shivering in their beds at night, but humans do die from the cold, and winter is fast approaching. The academy has a rule about students being required to heat their own dorms, and to foster a cooperative spirit and prevent the load from falling to the few who show an early aptitude for fire, the house leaders set up a schedule specifying whose turn it is to handle the task each evening.

In my experience, the last thing that schedule fosters is cooperative spirit. I distinctly remember, in my first year, helping two of my dormmates hold one of our compatriots out a window by his legs, threatening to drop him if he didn’t get a fire going immediately. He did, incidentally, but unfortunately, it was one of the bunks that caught alight, not the pile of kindling in the hearth. Still, it gave new meaning to “trial by fire,” and he had the knack of it after that. It was also the inspiration for one of my favorite teaching techniques.

And the first time I was called to the dean’s office. So many fond memories.

But since I don’t want any of my students accidentally (or purposefully) dropped from windows, and I definitely want to minimize the number of times they set fire to themselves and other things that shouldn’t be set fire to, I throw all my efforts into encouraging them to learn in class.

“Not like that, dolt! Do you want to kill us all?” I direct a flame-smothering spell at the giant fireball hovering in the middle of the classroom. It collapses into wispy smoke, and I glare at the student responsible. He’s one of the ones who still hasn’t earned the right to have his name used.

“But, Professor… you said to think of fire!”

“And your mind instantly went to a fireball hanging in midair instead of, perhaps, lighting the candle I gave you for that specific purpose?” I wave a hand to the taper on his desk, and he blinks at it in bewilderment.

“I… don’t know?”

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