The stool was uncomfortable beneath Zerra sat while Ibven wrote a long letter. The quill scratched over the parchment leisurely oblivious to her increasing disconcertment. At last he stopped and replaced the quill on the desk.
Turning in his chair, his dark eyes settled on her. He didn’t even have the decency to show emotion. He just stared.
She jerked on the stool, his spell holding her firmly. Glowering, Zerra hunched over. “It’s not polite to stick people to chairs.” she grumbled.
“If the individual refuses to polite herself, it is.” Ibven leaned back with a sigh. “I assure you I take no pleasure in this, but rules must be followed.”
Zerra snorted. Fool school. Fool double standards. She closed her eyes seeing the pack tucked beneath her bed. She’d get through this, get to her room, grab it, and be gone before moon rise.
And then she’d be not a day away before her powers flared threatening to burn another village.
Glowering, she opened her eyes. “I didn’t sear his exam.” The words came out a sullen mutter instead of a firm declaration.
“Then who did?” Ibven demanded.
Ibven hadn’t seen. Cadial had been certain, was always certain, no one caught him mimicking her powers.
Zerra could still see his smug smirk behind Ibven when their instructor had lit into her. No, he’d not believe her. Not against the Headmistress and he was their prized pupil. Talented and destined for court.
Zerra hunched further over and shrugged.
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