I groaned and leaned back. Everyone else leaned forward.
“I won’t bore myself by explaining the basics of harmonics. Again,” Falar said, pacing around the stage with hands clasped behind his back. “If you need to revise, it’s all in Fendribalis’ Scriptures on Death, pages ten to thirty.”
The name sounded familiar. “I have that?” I asked in a whisper.
“Yes, shh,” Minnelil said, pen hovering over an open notebook and eyes locked on Falar.
What followed was incomprehensible. He talked without notes, not taking any breaks or giving anyone else one either. He repeated some parts three times, but it didn’t help as I had no idea what he was talking about in the first place. Everyone scribbled in silence. I wanted to scream. I understood nothing about “flirting with the discordant” or “massaging the formants to enjoy a pleasing timbre at the climax of the spell”. He still phrased everything like a creep, but it didn’t seem to bother anyone else.
Grit actually seemed to be into it.
I let out a pfft, but the guy behind me slapped me on the head with his notebook. I pursed my lips, but stayed quiet. My stomach rumbled, so I pressed my hand against it, squeezed until it quieted down.
“Observe. Flex your tiny brains and call out the moment the overtones spark.” He drew first a simple blue line to hang in the air in front of his chest, then started to draw a purple line next to it with his other hand, moving his finger closer and closer.
Grit chuckled. “I wish I could use both hands,” she said, shaking her head.
The tingling and the pressure inside my temples grew. The combination made my nose itch and I scratched at it. The sensations got closer to each other, and suddenly a sharp vibration rose above both, clear like a note played from a violin. I gasped, opening my eyes wide. The note started to wobble, fade out.
Minnelil raised her hand, hesitating. “Now?”
“Already a moment ago. Adequate,” Falar said, swiping the lines away. “Again.”
He drew a new pair of lines. The pressure and tingling started to approach each other, getting closer again.
“Now!” someone shouted from behind the hall.
I scoffed. “Not yet,” I said. It was obvious. The lines sparked against each other, the feeling was off by a mile.
“Indeed,” Falar said, without taking his eyes off the lines. “Savor the tension. Again.”
He did it a couple of times more. People shouted, early or late. I kept my mouth shut.
Finally, he started to draw again, doing something more complicated this time. One of the runes I had already seen. I didn’t know what it was, but I recognized the shape. He drew a purple rune on top of it, equally complex. The tingling and pressure built and flipped over, vibrating like a chord, grinding and discordant, but all the more clear because of it. He held it for a moment, pulled it apart, then made it sing again. “Apply what I have shown you. I can do this all day, but you’ll miss lunch,” he said. “No one leaves, until you get it, and get it right.”
My stomach rumbled louder. Minnelil glanced at me. Getting locked in here, missing lunch while he wiggled his fingers. Like hell.
“It’s fine now,” I said.
Falar glanced at me, lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“It was. Except you pulled it apart now,” I said. “And now it’s back. You take it back and forth.”
Falar held my gaze. Damn it. Shouldn’t have given in to the hunger like that. I felt everyone’s eyes on me, the attention making my skin burn. I dug my nails into my palms. No danger here, just a classroom, with a lot of people. My jaw started to ache from clenching my teeth. Something coarse wrapped around my fist and I flinched. Grit pressed her hand around mine, squeezing lightly.
“Indeed,” Falar said, swiping the runes away. “Correct. I’ll mark the credit as gained.”
A murmur went through the class. Huh. I knew I’d gotten it right, but hearing him say it still made my chest swell. Whatever. But after all the undiluted insults, getting him to say that felt good. Especially with how annoyed he seemed to be about it.
“Back and forth, pff, how imprecise,” Falar muttered, then swiped his hand in a dismissive arc. “This lecture is over. Out of my sight, everyone.”
Chairs scraped against the floor as people stood. Some students rushed the stage, waving their notebooks at Falar. He clasped his hands behind his back, grimacing.
Grit rubbed my fingers with her thumb. “Don’t like attention? I know the feeling.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Congrats on the credit, though. That’s a big deal. How did you know when it was right?”
I unclenched my jaw with effort. “Couldn’t you feel it?”
“Feel what?” she asked.
I shrugged again, glancing behind me. Lombarte and his goons were standing near the door, glaring at everyone leaving. Waiting for me.
I shook Grit’s hand off mine and stood. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll go talk to him.”
“Falar? You sure?” Minnelil asked. “He’s intimidating.”
“He’s a creep,” I muttered, leaving her and Grit sitting in their seats. Grit chuckled, a nervous little laugh.
“This was covered in my earlier lecture, so I have no one else to blame for your ignorance than you,” Falar said at one of the students. “Do the calculations again. Take into account the drag of the Etherthorn Weave on the Null. You can’t depend on any of the old formulas.”
“But… how does the Weave affect—?” the student began.
“Read my research on it,” Falar snapped. “Add point two to the ablative force and increase resistance by point one. The other mistake is on the third line.”
“What other…” the student said, then decided against finishing the sentence as Falar glared at him. “Thank you, lecturer.”
“Oi, you,” I said, looking up at him on the stage.
The students turned to look at me, scrambling away as I pushed closer.
Falar turned to look up at the ceiling, letting out a drawn out breath. “The proper way of address is lecturer Falar.”
“Sure. What I’m supposed to do now?”
“Away, the rest of you,” he said, waving a hand. “I’ll have to deal with this.” He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “You are determined to act like a nuisance, I see.”
“Remove the shackle, and I’ll be gone before you can turn around,” I said, pointing at my neck.
“Don’t be ridiculous. At the moment it’s the only thing keeping you safe. You have my permission to remove it when you know enough to do it for yourself.”
I rubbed my neck, feeling the pressure that came from nothing. “I’m fine.”
“You are not. You are just too uneducated to know it. We will fix the latter.”
I opened my mouth, but my stomach rumbled so loud that I forgot what I was going to say.
“So it was you who distracted me throughout the lecture with that ridiculous growling. Come, I’ll plan your schedule while we eat,” he said.
“We?” I asked. I had drawn way too much attention to myself already showing off during the lecture. If Falar was such a celebrity as he seemed to be, eating with him would draw even more. But Lombarte and his goons were still hovering near the door, waiting for me. I wanted to deal with them even less. I didn’t fear them, but I feared what had happened to me when I had seen him. I shivered. It had been so real, somehow.
Most of the other students had left, or stood in small groups discussing something about the lecture with each other.
Falar stepped off the stage, then stopped to scowl at me. “Yes, we. I’ll waste my lunch on you even though I have research to do.” He sniffed, looking away from me. “Your raw talent is insulting,” he said, putting his hands into his pockets. “Knowing intuitively the harmonics between life and nothingness is like being born knowing how to read.”
I sniffed, looked away. “I’m nothing special.”
“You’re right,” he said. “But you could be, if you stop acting like a feral dog and start acting like a student. You have twenty-nine credits to earn, and precious little time. Spend it well, if you want to live.
My face burned bright red. I didn’t know what to do with the mix of insults, talk of talent, and the casual threat of death. I focused on the anger to wash away the other emotions. I hoped Lombarte and his goons had stayed around, so I could take a swing at them, but they slunk out of the door as Falar marched toward it. People practically threw themselves away from his path, faces meek even while their eyes flicked to me. I pressed my thumbs into my fists, pushed my hands into my pockets.
Grit and Minnelil had lingered in the hall. Grit watched me with her mouth hanging open. Minnelil nudged her on the shoulder, and she snapped it closed. Grit mouthed something to me, white face desperate. Way too long sentence to make anything out of it.
Minnelil rolled her eyes next to her and nodded at the door. “Go on,” she said.
I jogged to catch up to Falar as he was stepping out of the door. “Hey, wait up,” I said.
He growled, but didn’t answer. I sure as hell wasn’t suddenly going to start calling him mister lecturer or anything. We’d see who would crack first, but it wasn’t going to be me.
I followed him up the stairs, still feeling countless eyes on my back. I had seen a Dining Hall somewhere near the ground level, but he was taking us the wrong way, up the stairs and toward the ceiling. “Where are we going?”
“To the Lunch Hall,” he answered. “While we’re here, there are important things to—“
“There’s a separate hall for lunch?” I asked. “How many halls do you have? What’s the Dining Hall for?”
“For dinners. Now hush, and listen,” he said, voice straining. “You are correct in thinking you aren’t special. You have potential. It amounts to nothing if you don’t sharpen it. Work on your skills and knowledge.”
I scoffed. “I’ll get right on it.”
Falar stopped in the middle of the stairs, looking into the gale. “The protection around your neck is unraveling. The ambient magic of this place sustains it longer than it would have lasted elsewhere, but when it is gone, your lingering connection to the Conspice will flood you, turn you into an undead with nothing left of your mind or soul.” He turned to look down at me. “You will become powerful, one way or another. I have given you a goal, but if you choose to squander your potential, I’ll harvest what will be left of you, shackle your cold husk like you think I already did.” He poked a finger at my chest. “Those are your options. I won’t save you another time.”
“I never asked you to save me in the first place,” I said, rubbing my poked collarbone. What an ass. I moved my hand to rub at my neck, feeling the circle of cold and warm around it, not as certain about it being a bluff as I hoped.