note had been short—she was ill—and to the point, which was a small blessing given her handwriting.
“I want to be a physician, but it’s not appropriate or allowed,” I said. Madeline and Rainier could certainly hear the bitterness because it was so strong, I could taste it. “And I’m not rich right now.”
It was not a lie.
“I’m sorry.” I offered her half of my pastry—what else did I have when my word was questionable at best—and she laughed, refusing. “I will do better.”
If Demeine were a fire, I was simply inhaling the smoke and calling myself a victim when I could’ve been helping others escape.
We returned to the building only to find pockets of people crowding the doors. I pushed my way to the front and froze.
Propaganda from Laurel. On highly guarded, mostly noble and wealthy university ground.
WHY MUST WE BREAK OUR BODIES FOR THEM
AS WORKERS AND HACKS
WHEN THEY WILL NOT SO MUCH AS BREAK BREAD WITH US?
ALL ARTISTS DIE YOUNG, BUT HACKS DIE YOUNGER.
IF WE WERE ALL TRAINED,
IF WE ALL SHARED THE BURDEN OF POWER,
THE MASTER ARTISTS WOULD ONLY DIE FIVE YEARS EARLIER.
HACKS WOULD LIVE TWENTY YEARS LONGER.
WHY DO THEY PREFER US UNTRAINED?
WHY DOES THE KING PREFER US DEAD?
“Are they on any of the other buildings?” a boy next to me asked.
I shrugged and shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Can you scry it?” He glanced around, eyes wide with fear, and ripped the poster down. “Midnight arts it or whatever?”
“What do you think we’re studying here?” I snapped. “You ‘midnight arts it or whatever.’”
The flyer was passed from hand to hand until I lost sight of it, and I slipped through the crowd to rejoin Madeline and Rainier. The silver cuff Annette had made me keep was in my room under the bed.
“Your attention, all of you,” a voice called.
We all fell quiet and turned. It was Physician Pièrre du Guay, the First Physician of Demeine and responsible for keeping Henry XII, King of Demeine alive. He could reattach limbs and reconstruct half a heart, and here he stood before me. He was a stout white man in his fifties, square jaw clean-shaven, and scraggly eyebrows the same gray as snow slush in dirt grew wild above his sharp, blue eyes. The red coat he wore was not one of the newer ones that was made with red wool but had once, when he had been first named a physician, been white. His work had stained it over the years, and his magic had kept the color but not the mess.
“Where is it?” he said
From our small group of a few dozen, the three flyers nailed to our buildings made their ways to Physician Pièrre du Guay. He crumpled them in his hand and gestured for us to follow him. We did.
The courtyard where we had eaten was empty, and in the center was a body. It was a hack, black uniform speckled with blood, lying face up on the grass. Pièrre circled behind him.
“I know I have not had the pleasure of making your acquaintances before now, so forgive my bluntness. I am sure many of you are entirely dedicated to your future work,” said Pièrre. “However, please allow me to introduce to you Florice, who was formerly my most-trusted hack. In fact, I spent all morning working with him to save three lives.”
Florice’s chest heaved. A thin line of red seeped across his stomach, the stain more like veins than blood loss. He was steeped in power, magic from overuse of the noonday arts burning in his skin, and I could see it all the way down to the marrow of his bones. He was a skeleton still dressed, dead save for the soul still in him. There was no coming back from this without a physician to intervene. But Pièrre wouldn’t let him die.
“It has come, most unfortunately, to my attention that Florice had a hand in this garbage appearing here, but I know for a fact he had an accomplice place them. I need to know who.”
The magic that had been building in Florice’s bones for years was devouring him, gnawing at the threads of his life, changing the smallest ethereal aspects of him, and working its way out. The red stain grew.
Bisection was a mortal wound.
Pièrre was a physician. He had a responsibility.
“Please,” Pièrre said, his hands spread wide as if to embrace whoever gave him what he wanted, “tell me if you saw anyone.”
Next to me, Rainier and Madeline shook their heads. My