Eight
“So you’re seriously not coming?” Gemma whispers to me as the mentor at the front of the lesson room, a tall woman named Anise, explains the exact order in which ingredients should be mixed to create the perfect antidote to common poisons.
I add a few details to the scales of the dragon I’ve been sketching on one of the blank pages at the back of my notebook. I’ve been working on this one for several days now, half focusing on it while listening to whatever the mentor for that day is talking about. I try not to let any mentor see the sketch, of course. Who knows if they’d believe me if I had to explain that drawing helps me concentrate. “I just don’t feel like going to a big party, that’s all,” I say to Gemma. “As Olive pointed out, we celebrate our freedom every day simply by bein
