Master Catherine Lansing’s office was the mirror-reversed twin of the Magister’s, on the opposite side of the central building where the administrative offices were. Its wide windows, in shade at this hour of the morning, looked out over nearby Knightsbury, which was a pleasant young city vibrant with traffic whose distant noises filtered through the open window in snatches of sound. The furnishings were of the same Sylvestran style as the Magister’s, carved all over with grapes and pears and apples so the desk looked like a greengrocer’s wooden nightmare and the handles of the sideboard cabinet were invisible.
That was where the resemblance ended. Papers and cardboard folders covered almost every inch of the desk and were stacked several inches high in four piles on the sideboard. Stacks of paper nearly doubled the height of the short, utilitarian table, unornamented and modern, that stood beneath the center window. Inkwells and jars crammed full of pens occupied whatever space on the desk the paper didn’t take up. Even the chair Veronica currently sat in had had a box on it before Lansing removed it, with many apologies.
Now Lansing sat behind her desk and regarded Veronica with wide hazel eyes the same color as Veronica’s own. Veronica judged her to be in her mid-thirties, young to have earned four black bands on the blue stole indicating a Master who was pursuing the advanced degree of a Magister. She wore her dark brown hair cut short to brush her chin; at the moment, it was in disarray, wisps of it flying everywhere as if she’d been running. “It’s an honor to meet you,” Lansing said. “Please excuse the mess. I’m afraid it builds and builds—so many things to keep track of, and not enough filing space…”
Her voice trailed off. Veronica waited politely for her to finish her thought, but it appeared after a moment or two that she was done speaking. “I admit this is all very new to me,” she said. “We didn’t have tutors in—well, thirty years ago.” The room was too warm for comfort, despite the open windows, and Veronica hoped she wouldn’t sweat; it might make her appear nervous. She was nervous, true, but she didn’t want that to show.
“Oh, no, that’s a new development,” Lansing said, rather eagerly. She leaned forward, shoving a few stacks of paper to one side to lean her elbows on her desk. “The courses of study the Scholia demands are rather intensive—well, you know that—and it was discovered that students became overwhelmed with having to juggle all the requirements. Now a student’s tutor keeps track of their advancement, assists in planning the course of study, answers questions…”
“That makes sense,” Veronica said, though she didn’t remember ever having trouble keeping up with the Scholia’s academic requirements when she was a student. She hadn’t liked that rather personal “you know,” as if Lansing wanted to establish their relationship as equals or friends rather than that of tutor and student. “And we’ll meet once a week?”
“That’s right. Though of course I’m available at any time if you have problems.” Lansing sounded rather as if she hoped Veronica would have problems needing her intervention. “Now, I’ve discussed your situation with the Magister and gone over your academic record. You were twenty-two courses away from achieving the robe when you left.”
“That’s right.”
“And your primary course of study was architectonics.”
Veronica nodded. They’d just called it architecture or engineering in her day. Inwardly, she winced at how old that made her sound and resolved never to use the phrase again.
Lansing opened a buff-colored cardboard folder and sorted through its contents. “Your work was excellent. Really, with these marks, I don’t think you should have to repeat any courses, just pick up where you left off…”
When Veronica realized the fading pause meant Lansing was once again finished speaking, she said, “I’m not sure that’s fair. I’ve been away from serious study for twenty-eight years, and I’m sure some things have changed since then. And I know my mathematics skills are rusty. I don’t want to find myself in classes whose basics I’ve forgotten.” She also didn’t think her work had been all that spectacular. Better than average, certainly, and she was exceptional at understanding the underlying principles of architecture, but she was no genius.
Lansing’s eyes widened again. “Oh, but really, you shouldn’t have to repeat—”
“I want to earn the robe, Master Lansing,” Veronica said, feeling for once no embarrassment about interrupting, “not have it given me. I assure you I’m not upset at having to take some classes again. Now, what kind of course of study does that require?”
Lansing blinked. “Well, if you’re sure…” She shuffled through the papers again and withdrew two. “There are five classes you should probably repeat before proceeding further in architectonics. And it seems you have some fundamentals pending. History, natural philosophy, a law course…you lack eight fundamentals and fourteen discipline classes. With the repeats, that’s a total of twenty-seven classes.” She sounded almost apologetic. “That’s two to three years of study, depending on how rigorously you intend to tackle it.”
“I thought I should make this first term a sort of experiment, to see how difficult it will be.” Veronica heard herself speak in the soothing tones she’d used on Francis as a child when he became anxious, and she felt uncomfortable. This was a grown woman, her Scholia superior and tutor, and it wasn’t Veronica’s job to make her feel at ease. Surely that ought to go the other way around?
“At any rate,” she went on, trying to sound brisk and certain, “I was thinking five classes this Autumn term, and evaluate whether I want to continue in Winter term next year or take a break until Spring.” She had no intention of taking it slowly; she felt impatient with herself for having waited this long, and any delay felt like hooks embedded in her flesh, dragging her onward.
“Five classes—that’s ambitious,” Lansing said, her eyes wide once again.
“I don’t think so. It never was a problem before.” Veronica’s impatience rose, startling her. She wasn’t an impatient person, but Lansing’s eagerness, and now her reluctance, felt like the Master either didn’t want her there or wanted her there too much. She briefly considered asking for a different tutor, but that would mean stirring up trouble, and that wasn’t the sort of person she was.
“But…no, you’re right, Lady North, it shouldn’t be a problem.” Lansing took up a pen and dipped it in one of the open inkwells that threatened to spill all over the sea of paperwork. “If you’ll allow me…?”
Confused, Veronica nodded. Allow what?
Lansing proceeded to write on the topmost paper she’d removed from Veronica’s folder, with many pauses and staring off past Veronica through the windows. “A balance between discipline and fundamentals…let’s see…I want you to retake the third mathematics class, which will assess your skills and give us an idea of how to structure the rest of your mathematics study. I think you should also retake the second architectonics class, fundamentals of engineering. It’s perhaps more basic than you need, but if you can pass that with high marks, you won’t have to retake the third class.”
Veronica nodded. Lansing, despite all the pauses, suddenly sounded confident. It was much more as Veronica had hoped her tutor would be.
“As to the other classes, I believe a balance of three of your remaining fundamentals would be best. Principles of Devisery…a history course, probably, yes, art history—have you a preference for an historical era?”
“I’ve always liked Harandan architecture,” Veronica said.
“We offer a class on Harandan era iconography and the transition from abstract to representational art I think you’ll enjoy. And…I believe there are still seats in Master Tyndale’s fundamentals of law course. He’s a demanding teacher, but you did say you wanted to experiment…”
Veronica was coming to realize Lansing ended most of her sentences with that drawn-out, fading sound. “It sounds excellent. Thank you.”
“We’re all very excited to welcome you as a student, Lady North. You’re such an inspiration.” Lansing was back to sounding too eager again. Veronica’s anxiety deepened.
“Am I? How is that?” she said, trying to maintain a light, curious tone even though she felt she knew what was coming.
“Well, of course! Returning to your studies after nearly three decades away…you’re an example to everyone that education doesn’t have to be limited to the young.” Lansing leaned forward again, beaming. “And the Dowager Consort—you could choose to do anything. Your presence honors us.”
Anxiety coiled like a writhing snake in the pit of Veronica’s stomach. Being conspicuous had never come easily to her, not even when she had been the Consort and public appearances were the norm. Briefly, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. Too old, too famous—these next two to three years might become a nightmare. Then she took hold of herself and gave herself a mental shake. She’d endured far worse than standing out in a crowd of twenty-somethings, far worse than being a novelty and a figurehead. This was nothing.
“I prefer to be simply Lady North,” she said mildly. “And…thank you. But I hope I will not receive preferential treatment because of my rank. I know I can’t be just an ordinary student, but I don’t expect favors.”
“Of course not.” Lansing’s tone of voice was surprised, but the look in her eyes, that reverential look she’d worn when Veronica had entered her office, told Veronica her tutor would bear careful watching. She did not want Lansing crippling her education in a misguided attempt to give the former Consort what she believed was Veronica’s due.
Veronica rose. “Thank you again. I look forward to classes starting.”
“I’ll have a copy of your class schedule sent to your rooms,” Lansing said, rising as well and extending her hand. “I understand you’re staying in the student dormitories?” She sounded curious rather than judgmental, which was a relief after the morning Veronica had already had, trying to arrange for her housing. Everyone else had looked at her as if she were mad.
“That’s right. I’m supposed to see my quarters after this.” Veronica hoped her demands had been taken seriously, though she knew “demand” was the wrong word for how diffidently she’d approached the housing administrator and the dormitory chatelaine. She really needed to learn to be assertive.
“Very well. Good day, Lady North, and remember—I’m here any time you need assistance, or if you want to talk about anything…”
Veronica nodded. Yes, Master Lansing wanted to be Veronica’s friend. More accurately, she wanted to be the Dowager Consort’s friend. Veronica supposed that was possible, but she’d had too many years of deflecting sycophants to be much interested in pandering to Lansing’s desires.
She left the central building and crossed the yard, staying carefully on the paths. It was the fallow time, the space between terms when no classes were held, and she had the yard to herself though she knew there were still students and Masters around somewhere. She still wasn’t familiar with all the fourteen buildings of the Scholia and its outbuildings, but she could find the refectory—the low-roofed building with all the square windows—and she knew which of the edifices were the women’s dormitories.
All four dormitories looked very similar, with towers rather than spires at their four corners and tall, arched windows that gave the three stories a very startled look. Smooth-sided pillars formed roofed colonnades that encircled each building, providing welcome shade on this sweltering late-Summer day. Most of the windows stood open, which wouldn’t have been possible in a true Valantine building. Veronica felt grateful that the unknown architects hadn’t thought themselves bound to tradition over comfort.
The dormitories were named for virtues, Honor and Patience, Fortitude and Temperance. Veronica wondered if the names had any influence on their characters, or on the characters of the people they housed. If that were so, the one she’d chosen, Patience House, ought to stand her in good stead.
Patience House was the one on the left. Veronica entered and knocked on the first door she came to. It didn’t open immediately, and she stood with her hands clasped before her, feeling awkward again. Finally, Mistress Holyoak, the dormitory chatelaine, appeared. “Lady North,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“You did say to return at noon,” Veronica said. Mistress Holyoak’s gaze withered her, made her feel ten years old and caught snitching pastries from the kitchen. She could hear her voice growing smaller and quieter and made herself stand up straight and face the woman directly. Mistress Holyoak was shorter than Veronica, with gray-streaked black hair braided and coiled around the back of her head in an iron-hard construction rifle balls could probably bounce off. Veronica had yet to see her smile.
“I did,” Mistress Holyoak said, her frown deepening. The implication that she had expected Veronica to change her mind stiffened Veronica’s resolve.
“You said you would have a room ready for me by noon,” she said in a louder voice. “I hope it’s not an imposition.”
“Of course not, Lady North.” Mistress Holyoak—Veronica would never dare address her by just her surname, even in the privacy of her own head—pushed past Veronica and walked away without another word. Veronica hurried after her.
They climbed stairs to the third floor, where the hall split in two directions. Traditional Valantine architecture dictated a central well and no interior rooms, so Veronica judged the hall would make a rectangle, with rooms on both the inside and the outside. She hoped the antagonistic chatelaine hadn’t put her on the inside. There would be windows regardless, but Veronica didn’t want hers looking out on a depressing courtyard three stories below.
But Mistress Holyoak led the way to a door in the right-hand corner on the outside. “I’m afraid this is all we have,” she said, opening the door. “You can always take rooms in Knightsbury.”
Veronica entered and suppressed a gasp. This was a tower room, perfectly round, and was fully furnished in a modern style that appealed to Veronica’s expert eye. A small ash table and two chairs were drawn up between the arched windows, while a sofa and armchair upholstered in blue and silver brocade promised comfortable seats for anyone wanting to read or chat with a friend. A tap over a basin and a small single-burner stove made a kitchen nook next to the table. The room was stuffy, the windows closed, and there was no fireplace, but Veronica loved it instantly.
An archway to the left proved to contain a spiral staircase, its old stone niche cooler than the sitting room. Without waiting for Mistress Holyoak’s invitation, Veronica mounted the stairs and found herself in a dream of a bedroom, a small, cozy chamber made cozier by the large four-poster bed filling most of it. A wardrobe had been crammed into the remaining space, and between that and an old-fashioned wash table, there was barely enough room to move around.
It was, if anything, even hotter than the sitting room, and Veronica sidled around the bed to open a window. Then she stood for a moment, breathing in the delicious scent of warm grass and soil. The mattresses were bare, and the wardrobe door hung open, revealing that it was empty. Veronica pictured the bed covered with her own favorite quilt, the wardrobe full of her clothes, and could easily see herself living here for the next two years.
She descended the stairs to find Mistress Holyoak standing with her arms crossed over her capacious bosom. “The furniture upstairs can’t be changed,” the chatelaine said. “We can’t get it out without taking it apart. We had an Eskandelic princess studying here last year and she had a thing for Tremontanan styles, insisted we indulge her.”
“Eskandelics don’t have princesses,” Veronica said absently. Her mind was already on how she would decorate. No fireplaces in either room, but she could buy Devices to heat them when winter made that necessary. And no drapes to hide the beautiful arches of the windows. It was unlikely anyone could see into the tower rooms, anyway.
“I’m sure you’d know better than I, Lady North,” Mistress Holyoak said. Her tone of voice was bland in a way that concealed disdain, but Veronica discovered she no longer cared what Mistress Holyoak thought of her. Probably the woman had given her these rooms as a punishment—they were no doubt smaller than most, and the stairs might be considered an inconvenience—but if she’d intended that, she’d shot wide of the mark.
“I can move in immediately, yes?” Veronica had brought only her personal possessions, intending to purchase furniture in Knightsbury, and she was glad that wouldn’t be necessary.
“Of course.” Mistress Holyoak handed her two large iron keys, perfectly in keeping with the rest of the architecture. “Your room key, and a key to the outer door, which we lock at midnight. I’ve got a spare copy of your room key for emergencies. There are four washrooms on every floor, so I hope you don’t mind sharing, and commodes outside each washroom. We have the latest Devices installed. No men beyond the common room and study rooms downstairs, and no women in the men’s dormitories either. I’m sure you won’t need the reminder.”
The way she said it made Veronica want to find a man and drag him into her bedchamber. How dare Mistress Holyoak, who had to be nearly her own age, imply she was too old for romance? All right, she probably was too old for assignations, but Mistress Holyoak’s tone of voice, that dismissive, scornful tone, hurt Veronica in a way she’d thought she’d left behind forever at Landon’s death.
“I wouldn’t be so inconsiderate, no,” she managed to say in a polite voice.
Mistress Holyoak sniffed. “There are study rooms on the ground floor in addition to the common room. You can meet with your study group there if you wish, but near the end of term you’ll have to schedule their use. As I said, I lock up at midnight, and even though you can let yourself in, we look sharply at anyone who returns late night after night. There’s no curfew, much as I think there should be. Students aren’t sensible enough to be trusted with that responsibility.”
“When I was a student before, I lived in my family home in Aurilien. This is very different.” Veronica hoped she still sounded polite. She had never liked people like Mistress Holyoak, fond of enforcing rules at the expense of treating people like people.
“Very different, yes.” Mistress Holyoak turned and left the room, forcing Veronica to hurry to keep up as she strode down the hall. “That’s the washroom—all the washroom doors look the same. For an extra fee, a maid will tidy your rooms once a week, and if you’re honorable, you won’t make much work for her by leaving food all over the place.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Veronica said. She liked the idea of caring for those perfect, small rooms herself.
“I see,” Mistress Holyoak said as if Veronica had suggested something vulgar. She glared at Veronica briefly. “Any questions?”
Veronica couldn’t think of anything she wanted to ask the hostile chatelaine. “Not at the moment. I’m sure if I think of anything—”
“That’s fine, then. Welcome to Patience House, Lady North.” Mistress Holyoak disappeared down the stairs without waiting to see if Veronica would follow.
When the chatelaine had disappeared, Veronica turned and walked slowly back toward her rooms. Her rooms. It made everything suddenly feel more real.
She realized, as she passed the washroom, that she needed to use the commode. Curious about what Mistress Holyoak meant by “latest Devices,” she entered one of the two cubicles flanking the washroom door. It turned out the commode was a rugged porcelain Device that would be freezing in winter, but it whisked her waste away and emitted a puff of flowery air as it did so. Very modern. When she considered the kind of toilet conditions a real Valantine edifice would have, she was even more grateful no one had felt impelled into slavish imitation.
When she emerged, it was almost into the arms of another woman leaving the washroom. “I beg your pardon,” Veronica said, her voice pale with embarrassment.
“It happens,” the woman said. She wore a dressing gown of patterned Veriboldan silk and house slippers, and her wet brown hair draggled over her shoulders, darkening the silk. Her eyes had an exotic tilt to them that made her look like a cat, but rather than giving her a sly look, they made her lovely face seem even more approachable. “You’re Lady North, aren’t you?”
“I am. I suppose I’m unmistakable.” Veronica smiled and hoped her inner turmoil didn’t show.
“I didn’t expect to see you in Patience House, but everyone knows you’ve enrolled for Autumn term, and—forgive my rudeness, but you’re older than the rest of us and very recognizable.” The woman shifted the woven bag she held that seemed to contain toiletries and a face cloth. She didn’t sound judgmental, just curious, and Veronica’s anxieties eased.
“It’s not rude. I know I’m different. I hope it won’t matter,” she said.
The woman nodded. “Samantha Wilde,” she said, extending her free hand. “I’m just down the hall that way.”
“I have the…I think it’s the southwest corner tower,” Veronica said, examining a mental map.
Samantha’s catlike eyes widened. “Arakelian Jennea’s aerie? Did you anger Mistress Holyoak somehow?”
Veronica’s lips twitched in a smile. “I think she resents me wanting to be a Scholia student at my age.”
“Well, she certainly intended to punish you. That place freezes in winter. You don’t have to put up with that, you know. I’m sure there are other empty rooms.”
“She said this was the only one.”
Samantha scowled. “That can’t be true.”
“It doesn’t matter. I love it.”
Samantha let out a short laugh. “We’ll see how much you love it come Wintersmeet.”
“I don’t see why. Haven’t any of you heard of heating Devices?”
To her surprise, Samantha’s brow furrowed briefly before the woman said, “I…don’t know that any of us are accustomed to throwing that kind of wealth around. We’re not poor, exactly—can’t be poor if we can afford a Scholia education—but those Devices aren’t inexpensive.”
Veronica’s heart sank. And to think she’d come so close to making a friend. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed—I didn’t think—”
Samantha shook her head and smiled. “No, I’m being foolish. Why should you be embarrassed just because you’re the Dow—”
“Please don’t call me that,” Veronica said, feeling a little desperate. “Just…it’s just Veronica, really. Since we’re both students.”
“I suppose Dowager does conjure up images of a little old lady in a lace cap and mittens,” Samantha said with a grin. “Very well. Veronica. Let me get dressed, and I’ll help you with your things—you are moving in now, aren’t you?”
“I have to go back to Knightsbury, but yes.”
“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll go with you. Then I can show you around the place, maybe introduce you to some people. I know it’s quiet now, but wait until the dead day.”
Finally, something Veronica remembered. The dead day, the last day before the new term started. Counter to its name, it was the busiest and loudest day of the term. “I can imagine.”
Samantha smiled again and hurried away, saying, “At least you have rooms to yourself. Last year I had a dormitory sister who snored.”
Veronica laughed and followed Samantha more slowly. Her anxieties had all but disappeared. True, not everyone would be as friendly as Samantha, but she’d begun to hope she might eventually fit in here, after all.