The Doyen’s quarters were situated in the highest of the three towers of the Academy. After leaving the Atelier, Isyd followed the errand boy through the Great Hall and up the stairs. He was guided past the Consultation Office and the Tutors Quarters until a set of spiralling stairs.

“It’s this way,” the errand boy said with a bow of his head. “Knock once in front of the door.”

Isyd nodded and went ahead. From his vantage point on the roof of the Library, he already glanced at the Doyen’s tower, but it was the first time he got anywhere near. Atop the stairs was a door… without a handle. The timber was smooth and did not have any Commands carved on it. Isyd knocked once.

In front of him, the door unravelled like strands of silk, leaving only a hole for him to pass. Isyd didn’t bother to hide his amazement as he walked through. Behind him, the door weaved itself together soundlessly. It had opened on an anteroom whose walls were covered with paintings of previous Academy’s Doyens – or so Isyd assumed. From the anteroom, an arched doorway led to the office. It was a circular room with a high, vaulted ceiling and a raised platform in its centre on which dominated a large, ornate desk. Behind the desk, the panoramic window opened to a view of the Fields. The eye could not help but be drawn to the centre of the room, to the person who sat behind the desk.

Isyd had never seen the Doyen of the Academy before and knew little about him except that his name was Miesz Sokowski and that he was a Greater Artyst. The man didn’t look like Isyd had pictured him in his mind. Clad in a red and white robe with hints of gold, the man was of a tall stature though it was difficult to see seated as he was. Like all Artysta of high Opening, his face presented a certain agelessness that made it difficult to guess his age. It was only hinted by the crow’s feet around his sharp blue eyes and his hair, moustache and groomed beard entirely white. There was an air of gravitas to him that Isyd had come to expect from Great Artysta he frequented in his past life.

Isyd bowed his head respectfully. “The day Graces you, Doyen,” he said.

“The day Graces you, Young Isyd,” the Doyen said softly. “Please, take a seat.”

Isyd climbed the elevated platform and sat down on one of the two chairs presented. He waited silently for the man to speak first. The Doyen intensely stared at him for a few long seconds as if trying to read his mind.

“I have been following your progress with attention, Young Isyd,” the Doyen finally said. “I am glad I can at least talk to you, the Pupil who discovered the Blysht.”

“I didn’t work on it alone. It was a team effort.”

“Still, Milwyk and Hidrss keep singing your praise and I doubt they are wrong to do so. I am very pleased to have such a talent in the Academy. It is my hope that you will go far in your studies. Know that the Academy is here to help you. Our goal is to create the environment for your talent to grow.”

Isyd nodded humbly and smiled politely. He was still waiting for the Doyen to get to the heart of the matter. He didn’t have to wait for long; the old man reached for a drawer next to him, took out a bundle of papers and made them slide across the table.

“In that sense, here are the assignments for your classes for this semester. I believe you will make good use of them.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

So, that’s what it was about… Isyd didn’t reach for the bundle.

“I was told only the Paramount Rings and their Pupils had access to those assignments…” he said.

“Yes, usually. From experience it was found that only Pupils gathered in those 6 Rings were deserving of this… special favour. But then again, it was unexpected for a talent such as you to go on your own and for so long. The Paramount Rings are here for you, Young Isyd. I’m still puzzled that you haven’t joined them. I expect you to sort this out by next semester. Any one of them would do, the choice is yours. If—”

“I had considered buying the assignments,” Isyd cut him, “but someone had given the orders not to.”

The Doyen’s eyes narrowed but he smiled. “There are those in the Rings who enjoy those little games... What is happening between Pupils does not concern me. We, the Tutors, prefer remaining out of their business and letting the Rings handle their issue and conflicts on their own. I am above the factional struggles that animate them. This is why I take it upon myself to give you those assignments in person.”

Isyd still didn’t pick up the papers.

“Why am I getting a special treatment?” he asked.

At this, the Doyen appeared genuinely confused. “Why? Because you are special of course! Blessed by the Grace!”

“Do you fear I will fail the Evaluations? I assure you it won’t be an issue and even if it were, I am in means to afford the tuition for next semester.”

“You seem to have misunderstood me, Young Isyd… Those assignments are not meant to put in doubt your talent, not yours or any of the members of the Primordial Rings. Instead, you should see it more as… a gift on the part of the Academy. A sign of appreciation and an invitation to continue your work here… It is important that your talents are nurtured.”

Isyd could feel a beginning of irritation in the Doyen. His voice remained even as he spoke but the Song of the Grace around him became more… punctuated. It was as if it demanded Isyd’s attention amidst the constant background humming. The Doyen had perhaps expected Isyd to jump on the chance to have the assignments and avoid the Evaluations; he seemed a bit perplexed by Isyd’s contentious attitude. Isyd couldn’t help it. Something about the situation rubbed him the wrong way since he first learned about the assignments. He was suddenly reminded of what Tekla Dumnchory had once said in one of her outbursts: “… Opportunities, recognition, respect, and attention are all freely given while we normal folk have to struggle to gain the few scraps remaining. They are already Blessed by the Grace, so why not Blessed them even further and bow to their every need?” Isyd started to have a better idea of what it had been all about.

“Am I allowed to share the assignments with others?” he asked.

“No.”

It had been a curt response but in this single word hid a world of warnings. Once again, the Song of the Grace reacted. Isyd had rarely heard it so in tune, so reactive to someone’s presence. It spoke of a profound connection to the Holy Grace and a powerful Idpulse.

Isyd squarely met the Doyen’s cold blue eyes. “Then I am afraid I will have to turn down your gift, Doyen.”

“You would refuse me?” the Doyen said, raising a singular eyebrow.

“Not as a slight to you, but as a matter of principle. I am a Ringleader now and it wouldn’t feel fair for me to receive this gift while my friends do not. I will take the Evaluations normally.”

A tense silence fell between them. Isyd did not avert his eyes, but he felt the skin of his right hand twitch under his bandages. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Doyen smiled, though The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Your heart thrums with Vigour, Young Isyd. It is not something I can hold against you, not here in this Academy. I begin to understand what Hidrss and Milwyk saw in you. You may take your leave. I wish you good luck with your Evaluations, but remember this: your place is here with us, Young Isyd.”

Those last words almost sounded like a threat.