Geneviève watched the coach pull away and did not feel too bad about it. It was only a hired coach, after all. The family coach had left Lutetia that morning, carrying her parents and sister to one of their country homes in the provinces. Geneviève had mixed feelings about that. It was an exile of sorts, even if it was a voluntary one. A week ago Duchess Florette would not have dreamed of dragging her oldest daughter and husband into the country.
But five days ago Lord Aurthur, a dear friend of Geneviève's older sister Eveline, had gone missing. No one in the family had mentioned it. Aurthur's father had not come around to ask if they had seen him. They had all been thinking the same thing. It might take days or it might take months, but sooner or later Aurthur was going to turn up in the main square, and he was going to be missing his head.
The Duchess had wasted no time in preparing to move her family out of the capital city.
Geneviève herself had been given a choice. She could go along into the country to wait out the storm that had overtaken the capital, or she could stay in Lutetia and continue her schooling at Tituba University. It had been a difficult decision, but she had elected to enter her second year of University schooling. Tituba was one of the most highly thought-of schools of magic in the world. And it was neutral in all politics. If there was anywhere in or near the city where it was safe, it was Tituba.
Besides, second year was when student began taking their specialization courses. Geneviève was studying divination. If there was any skill that would come in handy for a member of the aristocracy, particularly one carrying the royal blood, than that was it. There were time, of course, when Geneviève was rather afraid of what the future might bring. The Queen had no children, and the highest ranking nobles were eating their own over the succession and land rights. Meanwhile, the city's common people, outraged over taxes and a crop failure that had caused a widespread famine, were expressing their feelings with committees. That dragged people out of their homes in the night and chopped their heads off.
Suddenly having your head fall off was a catching disease in Lutetia these days. The police and armies loyal to various noble factions used it as the main punishment for enemies of aristocratic houses. Commoners did it to captured nobles they deemed cruel. Commoners did it to themselves, because there were different factions in what must have been the most untidy rebellion the world had ever known.
Well, she would be fine at Tituba. A porter came to take Geneviève's small suitcase; the bulk of her luggage had been sent up the day before. She had been fine the previous year, because no matter how crazed, greedy, or self-righteous the faction, everyone thought twice about invading a University full of people who knew how to turn a person inside out with the wave of a hand.
Inside the entry hall of the great palatial building, Geneviève removed her gloves. There was chaos all around, as families of new and returning students said farewells or tried to move luggage. At least, as a returner, Geneviève already knew where to find her room. She picked her way delicately through the throng and took a back stair up to the floor of student dormitories. Up here it was much quieter. The porter, who had had much more practice navigating the move-in day press, was just arriving at her door. Yes, 97B. It had become quite homey after the first few weeks last year, and while it was no suite that could be found in any of the Duchess's homes, it was still nice enough.
Geneviève gave the porter a tip and dismissed him, taking in her suitcase herself and locking the door behind her. The rather cramped room contained a bed, wardrobe, desk, and wash stand. Light came from a mismatched collection of lamps and a small window. The staff had already unpacked her things, for which Geneviève was grateful. She tossed her gloves and cloak onto the bed, followed be her hat as soon as she had unpinned it. There was time before the Headmaster's address, and she wanted to have a nice read.
On the back of the door was a mirror Geneviève stared at it for a moment, willing it to show her something, anything. She thought she might have made her reflection ripple, but that was it. She sighed. Oh well. Her reflection, sighing back with her showed a 20-year-old young lady, who was quite short and wore heeled boots to try to hide that fact. Her hair was reddish brown, and was at the moment curled and pinned most elegantly, but already showing signs that it had its own ideas. The brown eyes could have come from either parent, and had dark circles beneath them. There was such a thing as thinking too much.
Once more, she tried to see something other than herself in the mirror and failed. Not that she was surprised; seeing the future in a mirror was one of the most difficult pieces of magic to perform and she had not learned the proper technique yet. Better do something productive instead, like change out of her carriage dress.
She had just begun slipping out of it when something fluttered to the floor. Oh yes. Eveline's letter. She had tucked it into her bodice as though it were a luck charm. Though she had already read it, Geneviève plopped onto the bed and stared at the familiar handwriting again.
Dearest Fifi -Geneviève automatically made a face, though her heart wasn't in it this time-
I hope you have another lovely year at University. I know our goodbyes tomorrow morning will not be sufficient, no matter how long they last. I am quite looking forward to Marchenes and am sorry you won't be coming with us. But I know your schooling is important to you. After term ends, of course, you must come to join us. Staying in the townhouse by yourself would be - and here were several things crossed out - terribly lonely, don't you think? Mama is sending a small coach back to town after us so you can take it to Marchenes in the winter.
Would you do me a favor? Marchenes is quite lovely and will be very restful, but of course we cannot get very good fabrics here. If you could bring me some pink moire I would be very grateful. It should match my gown with the velvet ribbons. You know, the one I wore to Grandmama's dinner. Thank you!
After a moment, Geneviève placed the letter on her desk. There was so much she did not want to think about. Instead, she quickly threw on a simple day dress in pale gold, picked up one of the books for her new classes, and went in search of somewhere airy to read. But before double-checking to make sure she had both locked her door and taken her key with her. That was a mistake someone in their first year only needed to make once.
