It wasn't long after that evening that Leda saw her cousin, Lysander Veremond, crossing the green at Haighton University. She was grateful that she was long out of his sight. She was far enough away from his sharp, unforgiving stare. Florimond followed her gaze. He was the same age as Lysander, but he looked younger than most freshmen: he was tall, but gangly with large brown eyes and shaggy hair that seemed to be chronically caught in a breeze. And while the other upper classmen, like Leda, would never deign to mix with the freshmen, Leda and Florimond gravitated to each other, and they enjoyed their library duties together.
"Who's that?"
"Lysander Veremond," Leda said as though he were merely a person she knew from afar.
"He looks dangerous," he mused.
Leda merely lifted her brows. Perhaps he was. Leda had long given up solving the enigma of her family.
They had been reshelving books that morning, but Leda and Florimond liked to take their time and amble up and down the stacks before their first class. There were a few students scattered here and there in the mornings—cramming in the early morning hours. But Leda and Florimond stole a few moments to exchange whispers about students around or the books that they had to put back.
Leda always ran her finger along the ancient spines of books, examining the titles before finding their places again. And when they both had turned back to their duties, it was this particular action that Leda caught herself doing when the head librarian, Mrs. Mond appeared at the end of the stacks. She whispered for Leda. Looked up. Her long hair was twisted up in a knot, but already a few white tendrils had fallen around her shoulders giving her a far away, absent appearance. She looked totally different from the night at dinner with the Veremonds: Her dark blue tweed suit fit snug around her body, and her dark scholar robes hung at her shoulders. Mrs. Mond motioned with her finger for Leda to follow. Leda exchanged glances with Florimond, and handed him the book that she had traced with her finger.
Leda followed Mrs. Mond out of the library.
"The headmaster would like to see you."
Leda blinked at her. Her first question, any for that matter, was, "did I do something wrong?"
But Mrs. Mond waved her hand before she could ask—"It's about your cousin, Lysander Veremond."
Lysander?
Leda had barely said three words at dinner. She was careful not to have said anything at dinner. She had seen how he looked at her as he approached from the veranda. It was stare that burrowed.
"Did he do something wrong?" a smile pricked at the edges of Leda's lips, even though she tried hard not to smile in front of Mrs. Mond. Mrs. Mond didn't really seem like someone who enjoyed laughter.
"It seems," Mrs. Mond sniffed, "that he is a special assignment to you."
Leda's almost smile melted into quiet confusion. Apparently, Mrs. Mond had no answers herself.
Leda made her way past students sprinting to their early class, working her way through the billowing eddies of scholar robes, dropped books, and clusters of cliquey girls. The only real dignity that Leda was able to maintain at the school was that she was an upper classman now. She had made it this far. That was enough. That was proof despite what rumors may have been going around. But before she could even reach the quieter corridors of professor offices and the archives where the headmaster worked, she had turned a corner and was suddenly face to face with Lysander. His expression hadn't changed much since the green. For that matter, it just didn't change much. She felt as though she were staring down the mouth of a viper ready to strike. The headmaster, who was normally imposing, paled standing next to Lysander who seemed to seethe.
"Ah, Miss Stryker!"
But Leda barely heard him over the blood rushing through her head.
"Mr. Veremond has requested you orient him around the school."
Leda's head swiveled from her cousin to the headmaster.
"I'm sorry?"
It looked as though Lysander was about to interject. He had clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. He was pleased with himself.
If there was any doubt that he was dangerous, now he was. Especially now.
"Lysander has specifically requested you, Miss Stryker, and seeing as how you are family—"
This was normally left up to prefects, and Leda certainly wasn't one. She wasn't powerful by any means. Lysander had to know that. Leda's powerlessness wasn't a secret. This had to be a trick.
"It'll be such a fun."
Leda thought his teeth shone with an unpleasant sheen at that moment.
"What's your first class?" Leda's voice broke a little.
"That's the spirit, Miss Stryker," the headmaster burst. And he turned on his heels and left.
Lysander and Leda watched him disappear before Lysander turned his attention back to Leda.
Leda suddenly turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" Lysander called after her.
Leda turned her eyes narrowing, letting her voice drop: "I doubt you need my help."
"If I told the headmaster you're remiss in your duties?"
"What would be the point?"
"Maybe," he approached slowly shrugging, "I do need help."
Leda was finished with the charade. "No, you don't. You just want to irritate me."
Lysander's eyebrows furrowed. "Not at all."
But Leda didn't believe him, and she folded her arms waiting for an answer. Now that Lysander saw his cousin in daylight, she was completely transformed: Her stark, pretty features seemed plainer, but Leda was more alive now under the bright light of morning. She was away from her family, Lysander realized. She seemed more relaxed, confident, and looked at Lysander in the eye with ease and defiance. She had barely spoken two words at dinner, but now she seemed she had much to say, and Lysander was anything but unwilling to listen.
Lysander was the first to relent. "Alright, I really cannot find my first class."
Leda narrowed her eyes and watched him. Lysander's sharp, goading expression had melted into helplessness. How much Leda believed him, she wasn't sure, but she reached forward and grabbed the already-crumpled list of classes that he had been given and unfolded it.
"The first class is... is Advanced Wisdom...? But that's for third years..." Leda blinked down the paper.
Lysander cleared his throat and shifted his weight, "I'm very smart."
"Very?" Leda glanced up him.
"That they put me in Advanced Wisdom."
"Well," Leda folded up the paper quickly, growing pale from annoyance, "that's my class, too."
Leda didn't wait for Lysander to start following her, but he jogged after his cousin. Wisdom was Leda's favorite subject. Throughout her time at school, she struggled just to survive every class. And every class was held in the same classroom-- a remote tower on the edge of campus. It was spacious with its seats descending down toward the center of the room like an amphitheater. Students were just filing in, and Leda and Lysander found seats at the very top of the room. Lysander had watched his cousin's movements carefully, trying to copy her. And Leda seemed too preoccupied to notice that Lysander was even with her: she just wanted to get through this class in one piece.
A lean, handsome man burst through the classroom, and as soon as he did, he stripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
"I'm Professor Han," he called out to the class. He clapped the classroom and scanned the classroom. A thick hush fell over everyone. Lysander could feel the entire room grow tense.
"Miss Stryker," Professor Han barked, turning toward the blackboard just behind him.
Lysander could feel Leda draw a breath. She abruptly pushed herself from her seat. Lysander watched her slowly walk down the steps, as though she were really going to her death. Lysander leaned forward, cupping his chin-- he was intrigued now.
Professor Han was writing something rapidly on the blackboard, which Lysander could barely make out until Professor Han had turned back around. Leda stood a little ways away from Professor Han, and he chuckled. He waved her to move toward him, but Leda only moved a step forward.
"We've been working through the Stratagems: the most complex and long-focused stratagem is The Chain."
Then Professor Han stared down Leda. He gave a curt nod, but for a moment Leda was frozen. Then Lysander watched her lift her hands hesitantly. A faint, white light emitted from her palms, but what Lysander thought was a poor attack on her part was her defense. He watched as her head flew to the side, just missing Professor Han's almost imperceptible attack. Then there was another sudden exchange where their strikes clashed, and it sounded like the crack of a roaring fire. A wisps of smoke now stood between the professor and Leda. But Lysander could see Leda was already spent, and Professor Han was barely winded.
So, it was true. Leda Stryker had no power. At least not enough to really show for it.
Professor Han suddenly shot something in Leda's direction with his left hand. She dove from the blast and attacked his right hand, but Professor Han caught what looked like a white-hot ball of energy. Leda's magic. He held it aloft, examining it. Then he crushed it, and the ball dissolved into a grey smoke. But within a fraction of a second he pushed his hand toward her as though he were pushing a very heavy door, but Leda saw the strike. She crossed her hands in front of her head, and violent light flashed between them. Lysander had covered his eyes as the explosion shook his ribs. When he looked up again and through the smoke, he saw Leda on her back coughing. Lysander raced down the steps before he knew what he was doing and was by her side.
"Don't worry about her," Professor Han approached them, chuckling.
The rest of the class were leaning over their desks trying to get a better look.
"Seems like a worrying situation," Lysander's words were clipped.
Leda tried to push herself from the ground. When Lysander heard her thin breath, he pulled her arm around his neck and helped her up.
"The infirmary, Miss Stryker?" Professor Han said with another annoying smile. Lysander's face darkened, but Leda just nodded and coughed again.
"Take care," Professor Han called after them, but Lysander wasn't sure if he was referring to him or her, but it didn't matter. Lysander felt like he was only one that cared.