"But something happened recently that caused them to take notice of you?" Ilsa surmised.
"Fortov happened," Zorian growled out. "He bombed several exams, had to be bailed out by father’s connections. He has shown himself to be generally unreliable, which is a problem, because he was supposed to be the spare heir for the family business, just in case Daimen dies on one of his escapades. So now I am suddenly taken out of the metaphorical closet so they can groom me for the role.''
'But you don’t want to be the spare?' she guessed.
'I don’t want to be involved in Kazinski family politics, period. I am not a part of that family anyway. Never was. At best, I was only ever a loosely aligned associate. I appreciate them feeding me and funding my education, and I’m willing to reimburse them for that when I get a job, but they have no right to ask something like that of me. I won’t hear it. I have my own life and my own plans, none of which involve playing second fiddle to my older brother and wasting time on insipid social events where people suck up to each other non-stop.'
He decided to stop there, because he was just making himself angrier. Plus, he suspected Ilsa didn’t empathize with him much. Most people thought he was simply being overdramatic about his family. They weren’t the ones who had to live with them.
When she realized he wasn’t going to say anything more, Ilsa leaned back and took a deep breath. "I empathize with you, Zorian, but I’m afraid such comparisons are unavoidable. For what is worth, I think you’re shaping up to be a fine mage yourself. Not everyone can be a prodigy like Daimen."
"Right," said Zorian, refusing to look at her.
She sighed, running her hand through her hair. "You make me feel like the villain here. Family issues aside, why are you so bothered by this? It’s a party. I thought all teenagers liked parties. Are you concerned about finding a date? Just ask some first-years and they’ll jump at the chance – they can’t attend unless invited by an upperclassman, you know?"
Zorian released a sigh of his own. He wasn’t looking for a way to find a date – he had no doubt that simply dropping his last name would net him some impressionable giggly first year for the evening – he was looking for a way out. Something that Ilsa wasn’t willing to provide him with, it seemed.
"I’m not getting a date," Zorian told her, rising from his seat. "I may have to come to the dance, but I’m pretty sure that bringing a date is not mandatory. Have a nice day."
He was surprised that Ilsa didn’t try to contradict him as he left. Maybe this whole dance thing won’t be such a chore.
Zorian trudged through the corridors of his residence building wearily, not in any real hurry to get to his room. The teachers had refrained from giving them any substantial homework over the weekend, knowing that everyone would be too preoccupied with the summer festival to get any work done. Normally all that free time would be a godsend to Zorian, but just thinking about what he would have to endure tomorrow was enough to make Zorian lose the will to do anything fun or productive, so he fully intended to go to sleep the moment he arrived at his room.
As he entered his residence building he noted that someone was already in a celebratory mood, because the walls of the corridor he was passing through were full of colorful splotches in vivid yellow, green, and red.
"Zorian! Just the man I was looking for!"
Zorian jerked in shock at the loud voice behind him and whirled around to face the man who invaded his personal space. He scowled at the grinning idiot in front of him.
"Why are you here, Fortov?" he asked.
"What, I can’t visit my little brother?" he protested. "You too good to hang out with big bro?"
"Cut the crap, Fortov. You never come to me when you just want to hang out with someone. What do you need help with, now?"
"That’s totally not true," he huffed. "You’re my favorite brother, you know?"
Zorian stared at him impassively for a few seconds. "Daimen isn’t here so you’ll settle for me, huh?"
"Daimen is an asshole," Fortov snapped. "Ever since he got famous he’s always too busy to help out his younger brother. I swear, that guy only thinks about himself."
"The hypocrisy is thick with this one," Zorian mumbled.
"Sorry, I didn’t catch that," Fortov said.
"Nothing, nothing," Zorian waved dismissively. "So what kind of trouble are you in now?"
"Um, I might have promised a friend I’ll make her an anti-rash potion," Fortov said sheepishly.
"There is no such thing as an anti-rash potion," huffed Zorian. "There is, however, an anti-rash salve, which is applied directly to the affected skin instead of being imbibed like a potion is. This just shows what a total dunderhead you are when it comes to alchemy. What the hell were you thinking, promising your friend something like that?"
"I kind of pushed her into a purple creeper patch during our wilderness survival class," Fortov admitted. "Please, you have to help me! I’ll find you a girlfriend if you do!"
"I don’t want a girlfriend!" snapped Zorian irritably. Least of all the kind of girlfriend Fortov would set him up with. "Look, why are you bothering me about this? Just go to the apothecary and buy some."
"It’s Friday evening. All stores are closed in preparation for the celebration tomorrow."
"Well that’s too bad, because I can’t help you," said Zorian. "First two years are all theory and lab safety, and I’m just starting my third year. We haven’t done any serious alchemy in class so far."
So true and yet such a bald-faced lie. He hadn’t done all that much alchemy in class but he had done quite a bit of private study in his free time. He could make an antidote for the purple creeper rash easily, but why should he spend his expensive alchemical ingredients?
"Oh man, come on. You can speak three different languages and you know all the silly shaping exercises they make us learn, but you can’t even do something so basic? What the hell are you doing in your room all day long if not learning how to do stuff like that?"
"You’re one to talk!" Zorian snapped. "You’re a year older than me, you should be perfectly capable of doing this yourself."
"Eh, you know I never cared for alchemy. Too fiddly and boring for me," Fortov said with a dismissive wave. "Besides, I can’t even make vegetable soup without ruining mom’s kitchenware, do you really want me around alchemical equipment?"
Well, when he put it that way…
"I’m tired," Zorian said. "I’ll make it tomorrow."
"Are you crazy!? Tomorrow is too late!"
"Oh come on, it’s not like she’ll die of a goddamn rash!" said Zorian irritably.
"Please, Zorian, I know you don’t care about these kind of things but she’s crushing on this boy and-"
Zorian groaned and tuned him out. That’s pretty much all he needed to know about this emergency.
"-and if my friend’s rash isn’t fixed by then she won’t be able to go and she’ll never forgive me! Please, please, please-"
"Stop it."
"-please, please, please, please-"
"I said stop it! I’ll do it, okay? I’ll make the damn salve, but you owe me big time for this, you hear?"