The University's narrow corridors were glacial despite the weak sunlight leaking onto the marble floor. It made an abrupt change from the Alchemical Library's wooden shelves and leather chairs, but helped to cool Sage's head as the flush retreated down her neck and her ribs released their grip on her lungs.

She balanced her pile of books awkwardly down a tight, spiral stairwell, emerging on the ground floor near the professors' rooms. It was mid-afternoon, so Sage expected most Scholars would be taking their lunches privately, giving her a moment to slip into a recess and pack up her books. She hadn't wanted to spend any more time at the library's front desk—not with the new librarian glaring as she tried to jostle the grimoire into her satchel. Sage pictured the dark eyes glittering down at her and shivered.

She slumped into the bay window by Newton Courtyard and arranged her books beside her. Her two notebooks and the copy of Advanced Hermetic Principles that she had loaned at the start of term slid into her satchel easily, but she suspected the grimoire would split the seams if she tried to shove it in alongside them, and didn't even attempt it after a glimpse at its thin, yellow pages.

Sage sighed, setting the grimoire back against the window. The bells seemed a little quieter now that she was out of the library, the courtyard's arches slicing up the blue sky and cotton clouds, an illusion of privacy. She started counting and her breath misted the glass. Pressing her cheek to the window, she forced her eyes shut and her anxiety down, though it only seemed to claw closer to her chest.

"Sage! I thought I saw you pass outside. Come on in, you look exhausted."

Sage flinched at the sound of her name, even though she knew immediately that it was Professor Andrews. As one of the few female Scholars in the University, she spoke in a sharp and brusque voice that didn't match the wild, red ringlets always springing around her face. After three years of her Primary Hermetics lectures, Sage had practically begged the professor to be her thesis supervisor in September.

"Hi Gillian," Sage said, still getting used to using her professor's first name. "I'd love to, thanks."

She grabbed her satchel and followed Gillian into her office. It was built into a converted closet under the stairwell, and although Sage had always found the close-stacked journals and stout fireplace cosy, she knew that Gillian deserved more space and greater respect than the remnants of dusting apparatus allowed her.

"That'll be fine, Corinthia. Thank you," Gillian said to the woman boiling tea over the fire. The Steward bowed her head, and as she did, Sage saw a scabbed burn that traced a thin line down her neck. It looked almost as if someone had struck the fae with an iron rod. But when she caught Sage staring, she ducked her chin and scurried out, closing the door behind her to keep the warmth in and the distant chiming of bells out.

"That damned ringing is sending me mad." Gillian bent to hook the kettle out of the fireplace. "I was right in the middle of transcribing Chymes when they started and I knocked a fresh inkwell onto the rug."

As Gillian poured two cups of tea, Sage peered at the work on her desk. It was mostly diagrams—hermetic glyphs arranged into sigils too complex for her to understand. There was also a line of cursive writing still wet from its ink.

One is the All, and it is through it that the All is born.

Sage shivered again, just as Gillian bustled over with a steaming mug and herded her into an armchair. "Poor thing, you must be half-frozen walking around this drafty place. They really should install some fireplaces up in the library."

"It's not too bad," Sage said, taking a sip of the spicy tea to distract her mind from the thought of a book being left to singe beside an open fireplace. "The bells are so loud though. I think I'm just going to go home. I don't have any seminars today."

Gillian huffed. "If Nicholas knew he was going to die, the least he could've done was given us all a national holiday. I suspect they'll keep ringing those bells until midnight."

It was a callous thing to say about their Crown Prince, but Sage still smiled. Gillian's frankness was what had attracted Sage to her during her very first month at the University. Some found her too abrasive, but Sage loved that she never had to worry about what the professor was truly thinking. If Gillian didn't like a piece of work, she said it. If a male professor tried to talk over her, she would repeat herself—louder.

She reminded Sage a little of Valerie.

"I imagine it'd be awful to be sick for so long, just getting weaker and weaker," she murmured, sinking into the armchair.

"Absolute misery," Gillian agreed. "It must be half a year now since his marriage and, after the King and Queen were buried, the coronation was supposed to happen by the end of the summer. But I suspect if you're as ill as he was, a bed is a much more tempting place to sit than a throne."

"What do you think he had?" Sage asked. Everyone in the city had their theories; plague, poisons, and heartache. But the monarchy was known for its judicious privacy and, even without fatal afflictions, they generally kept to their palace which loomed to the west of the city.

Gillian shrugged. "I'd say it doesn't matter any longer. What I want to know is what's going to happen now. Nicholas was the King's only child, so technically the last monarch left in the palace is his bride."

Sage's eyes widened. "You think they'll crown a fae?"

"I don't know what other options they have. But it would be unprecedented, so I'm sure the Council will pick something thorny out of the legislation. And if they can't, then who knows what'll happen to the University."

It was no secret that the majority of the University's funding came from the palace. Scholars were free to work alchemically on whatever pleased them, so long as it was all towards a common goal: the transmutation of matter into gold.

The palace had even been known to fund specific research projects. Sage herself had received meagre checks for the past three years, although they had dried up completely since starting her Magister studies. "Do you suppose that's why they've stopped sending out the Student Support checks?"

"The what?" Gillian replied, although her head was buried beneath her desk as she rifled through a mountain of essays. "Aha!" Her mug wobbled precariously as she wrestled open a drawer stuffed with papers. "Your Apollonian Script essay! I finished marking it this morning and although you stumbled on a couple of the Greek glyphs, it's excellent work. You should be proud of yourself, Sage."

Sage felt the tea warming her chest as Gillian passed her the essay. "I was certain I'd muddled up all of the glyphs, to be honest."

Her professor frowned. "You need to have more faith in yourself. You didn't get a place in the Magister programme for nothing. Speaking of, I should let you get on home before it grows too chilly. I heard Jansen wants you all here bright and early tomorrow morning."

Sage didn't want to think about Professor Jansen or the unread Faustus chapter she had left until the last possible evening. So she tucked her essay into her satchel and smiled. "Thank you for the tea."

"Anytime, Sage. You know that."

Once she had left the office and stepped out into Newton Courtyard, Sage unchained her bicycle from the posts by the laboratories. The bells were still ringing, but they weren't bothering her as much after Gillian's praise for her essay. She was looking forward to cycling home along the eastern embankment; the farthest she could be from the palace and its bells without crossing the river.

She had just tucked the bike lock into her pocket when a widow was unlatched above the courtyard. A plume of smoke spiralled out, along with a faint crackle and the bitter scent of cloves. The librarian's narrow shoulders fit easily through the opening, though he had to stoop to lean his head out into the cold air. His cheeks hollowed as he brought the cigarette to his lips again.

Sage was certain he hadn't seen her; his gaze was fixed on some indistinct point beyond the front lawn. Perhaps he was watching the bells. Still, Sage strapped her satchel to the back of her bicycle as silently as possible. She wasn't sure why she so desperately didn't want him to look down.

She was a Student here. She belonged at the University.

Sage kept repeating those lines in her head as she peddled out of the courtyard and behind the Metallurgy Labs. She decided to take the long way around the lawn. The quieter path. After all, the sun was still shining.

A/N Hi everyone! Thank you so much for all of your support for The Alchemical Child earlier this week, I'm so so happy to be back. Also, I had completely forgotten that it was the Wattys today! If you haven't already, definitely check out the Wattys profile as there is a whole host of exceptional novels and writers to discover!! :D