The headmaster, a tall and strong-looking woman with feathered wings of white and a crown of silver braids, addressed us. Her name was Headmaster Atalara Windswallow, she said, and she’d been headmaster of the academy for more than half a century, even though she didn’t look nearly old enough for that.
“Students,” she said, her voice ringing like a trumpet, cutting through the whispers and giggles and rendering the room utterly silent and at attention. “Welcome to a new year at Spellwood Academy.”
A swell of excitement swept through the room. Even the jaded fourth years seemed to feel it. Most of the first years broke out in excited applause, a few of them cheering before the teachers hushed them so the headmaster could continue.
Much of her speech was things I’d already heard yesterday from Tearly—the four dormitories and their locations, the societies’ names, the fact that we’d all be required to join one. She also directed our attention to a student rulebook, which, she explained, each student had a copy of in their room. She reviewed a few of the rules, some the kind you’d hear at every school, like no fighting, no stealing, no cheating… and some, well, not. There was to be no use of charms or magic without permission during the semester, with the exception of the society night and certain celebrations, and then only for dramatic effect and decoration. There were to be no hexes, no curses, and no communication with the outside world except through the proper channels, mainly letters, which could be scanned for charms and hexes. The whole campus, she explained, was bounded by spells for safety, and any spells or charms performed within the boundaries were detectable by the professors.
Apparently, security was an issue of genuine concern. My mom had been right. I would be protected here.
I thought more of my mom and Grandmother Azalea as I reached for the locket around my neck. Was that an improper channel? I didn’t want to ask and have the locket taken away. If I used it, would they know?
The headmaster had mentioned letters. I would write to them that way just in case, and leave the locket for emergencies.
Headmaster Windswallow was explaining the use of clocks to tell time to some of the more fae among us when my attention wandered a little. I turned my head to look around me, and caught the eye of Tearly, sitting a few rows back. She grinned at me and flicked her fingers in a wave. I smiled back. Then my gaze shifted, and my smile faltered.
A few rows behind her sat Lucien and his crew. They hadn’t seen me, and I took the opportunity to study the disgraced prince of the dark court.
He was handsome, I had to admit. Today, his hair curled in unruly waves over and around his crown of antlers, making them almost invisible. I noticed that his ears were slightly pointed at the ends. He was still holding a book, a different one this time.
I was trying to read the name on the spine when he turned his head and caught me looking.
Heat rushed through my cheeks and flamed across my throat. Lucien’s mouth twitched once in what might have been a smirk before I whirled back around, my heart slamming.
Why had I been looking at him like that? So openly? Now he probably thought I was some besotted idiot when I’d just wanted to know the name of his damn book.
My ears were still burning when Headmaster Windswallow finished her speech and dismissed us to lunch. Classes, we were informed, began promptly at one o’clock, and the society night would be in several weeks’ time. A more specific measurement was quoted—something about fortnights and crescent moons—but I wasn’t sure how it translated, timewise.
“I’ll never figure this clock stuff out,” Lyrica said mournfully as we filed toward the dining hall. “I’ll be perpetually lost.”
“One o’clock is when… ah, when the sun is a waltz away from high noon,” Hannah tried, which didn’t make sense to me at all.
Lyrica brightened. “Well, fell’s feathers, why didn’t she just say that?”
“I don’t understand the way the days and weeks are measured here,” I said. “Days, yes, and weeks, but what about all this other stuff? Moons and things.”
“A moon cycle is a month,” Hannah said. “The school observes time like mortals do, but old habits… you know.”
I sighed.
Lunch was composed of big black pots of soup, some of them cool and mint-scented, others bubbling hot. One had what looked like an eyeball floating in it.
“Toad’s eye stew!” Lyrica squealed. “My favorite!”
“The eyes give it a special flavor,” Hannah explained to me as she saw my hesitation. “But nobody eats them.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lyrica said as she ladled a giant serving of eyeballs into a bowl.
I looked away before I could gag at the sight, and I spotted another familiar face.
Griffin.
He sat at a nearby table, surrounded by other elites. He looked resplendent in his school uniform, and his tawny-gold eyes gleamed as he looked me over and then winked.
My stomach twisted nervously. I wasn’t sure what to do with such naked admiration. It was flattering, but unnerving.
After I nodded back, Griffin rose and strolled over.
Up close, he smelled like heated bronze and sunbaked apples, and I had the faint feeling of standing close to a warm fire. “So, we meet again.”
“Yes. Um. Hi.”
A lazy smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “Come sit with me.”
“I…” I stole a glance at Lyrica and Hannah, who nodded at me. “Er, yes. Fine. I will.”
The force of Griffin’s full smile was like the flash of sunlight on water—blinding.
I grabbed my bowl of soup and followed him back to his table. As I found my seat, I nearly dropped one of the bowls, and Griffin lay a steadying hand on my shoulder. His fingers were almost scorching hot.
I sat.
The others at the table looked at me curiously. Their faces were not particularly welcoming, but not malicious either. They seemed more confused at my inclusion than anything else, as if they weren’t sure why Griffin had asked me to join them. I was obviously more mortal than fae, and obviously middling.
Everyone else at the table, if I had to bet, was an elite. I’d stake a good amount of money on it.
Three girls with violet hair who appeared to be triplets stared at me from either side of Griffin as he settled himself on the bench opposite me. Beyond them sat a young man with a horn growing out of the center of his forehead like a rhinoceros. He was big and brawny, and his hands looked like they could crush small rocks, but his gray eyes were soft.
“Sylla, Nylla, Merit, and Bigs,” Griffin introduced them with a wave of his hand. “This is Kyra.”
“What court are you from?” one of the triplets—Nylla?—asked me. Her gaze flicked over my maroon robes, and she lifted an eyebrow.
“The summer court,” I said.
This appeared to surprise them all.
“I’ve never seen you before,” the other of the triplets—Sylla?—said. “Unless… are you that mortal girl who drank too much honeysuckle wine and almost drowned in the crescent lake last year?”
“I’ve never been to the summer court,” I admitted. “I grew up in the mortal realm.”
For a second, they looked as if I’d said I drank my own urine, but they all quickly covered their surprise and disgust and smiled at me again.
“What society are you planning to join?” Griffin asked, impervious to his friends’ reactions.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I said, which was true. Even if I had, I didn’t feel like trotting my choice out for his friends to scorn behind their fake smiles. “What society are you all in?”
I was almost certain what their answers would be.
“Basilisk,” Bigs said as if I’d asked the color of the sky. “The girls are in Briar.”
I nodded as though this were a revelation to me.
“You could join Briar,” Griffin said. “They’d be happy to have you.”
I didn’t miss the way the girls’ eyes narrowed, bu
t they didn’t contradict his statement.
“Oh, she probably wants to join Dewdrop,” one of the girls said quickly, snickering under her breath.
Now I was truly annoyed. So much for keeping quiet about my choices.
“I was thinking Flameforge,” I said, mostly because it seemed like an impressive society, and I didn’t miss the flicker of amusement that crossed one of the triplet’s face. As if she didn’t think I could get in.
“Flameforge is a respectable society,” Griffin said. “But you’ll have to pass their trials if you want to be accepted. Briar is better.”
“Do you think I can?” I asked, fluttering my eyelashes at him mostly because I wanted to see that look of disgust on the triplets’ faces again. Maybe if I thought of it as funny rather than humiliating, I wouldn’t feel so trampled upon.
Griffin seemed pleased that I was asking his opinion. “I think,” he said, capturing my hand and holding it in his own as he looked into my eyes, “that you can do whatever you set your mind to. You seem like a strong woman.”
“Thank you, Griffin,” I said, smiling at him.
He beamed and pressed a kiss to the back of my hand. The resulting frowns from Bigs and the triplets was more rewarding than I’d anticipated.
~
At one o’clock, I rushed with Hannah to our first class. We had the same schedule, being as we were both mostly mortal and fully middling.
I could tell that Hannah resented the fact that she had to take what was essentially remedial fae courses, but she bravely pretended she wasn’t.
Our first class was called Middle Histories of the Folk. There was also, apparently, an Ancient Histories of the Folk and a Modern Histories of the Folk, but Middle seemed to be the place to start. Hannah whispered to me as we entered the classroom that the Middle History was the most relevant when it came to building a historical foundation for the current arrangement of kingdoms and politics.
As I entered the room, I was startled to see Selene, one of Lucien’s crew, half-reclining gracefully in one of the seats. She was dressed in her year’s colors and obviously wasn’t a middling student. Her gaze passed over me coolly as I entered. I took a seat as far away from her as possible. In my distraction, I bumped into another student, a girl with hair in three braids down her back interwoven with thorns and brambles. She whirled on me with her razor-sharp teeth bared in a snarl.
“Watch it,” she hissed, flicking a forked tongue at me.
“Sorry.” I took a step back and felt Hannah grab my elbow.
“She’s from one of the unseelie courts, no doubt,” Hannah murmured in my ear. “Most of us don’t care where the rest are from, but there’s always a few of what are called Warmongers, those who still take to heart the old feuds and wars. Unseelie versus Seelie. And some of them have short tempers, so avoid them if you can.”
Our teacher, whose name was Professor Quaddlebush, was a small man with wings on his back and a pair of spectacles that didn’t seem to want to stay on the bridge of his nose. He shoved the spectacles in place as he looked us over, and he introduced Selene as a special guest speaker on the first topic of the day, as apparently her great-great-grandfather had recorded the Middle Histories as we knew them.
That explained that mystery.
Then, Professor Quaddlebush asked us to each stand and give our names and respective courts one at a time.
My stomach twisted into yet another knot. Nervous anticipation was making my hands shake. The confrontation with the forked-tongued girl hadn’t helped, either. My adrenaline burned through my arms and made me feel dizzy.
When it came time for me to give my name and court origin, I stood slowly and nervously turned to face the room. I felt the weight of their eyes on me.
“I’m Kyra,” I said. “And, ah, I’m from the summer court.”
“The shit court, more like it,” the girl with the forked tongue said loud enough for everyone around us to hear.
My fear turned to fury as I snapped my gaze to hers. She was smirking at me.
Before I could open my mouth to snap back a response, however, her smirk turned to a gasp, and she made a strangled sound. Her face took on a greenish tint.
I stared. Was she choking? My anger bled away, and I stretched out a hand toward her. I knew CPR. I’d learned it in a lifeguarding class. Maybe—?
“Kyra!” Professor Quaddlebush shouted. “Stop at once! Stop, I say!”
I didn’t understand what he was saying, but then the girl’s face flattened and stretched, and I realized she was turning into a frog.
I gasped sharply, and my eyes landed on Selene, sitting a few rows away, laughing silently.
“Stop!” I cried, and the girl’s face sagged, one eye bulbous and drooping. She put her hands up to cover herself as some of the students giggled, but most of them looked as shocked as I felt.
Why had Selene done that?
“Kyra,” Professor Quaddlebush said, his voice brimming with badly-contained fury. “Using spells on other students is expressly forbidden, and will be punished swiftly and severely. Go at once to the headmaster’s office.”
CHAPTER TEN
“GO IMMEDIATELY TO see the headmaster,” the professor bellowed as I stood transfixed with shock.
“But… I didn’t…” I shot another look at Selene, who was smirking now. “I didn’t do it. I don’t know any spells.”
“You stood there and pointed your hand at her, young lass. Don’t try to lie to me.”
“I—” I began again, feeling utterly helpless. I realized that this looked bad, but he had to listen to me.
Professor Quaddlebush did not seem to share my perspective on listening.
“At once!” the professor thundered, his tiny wings buzzing with emphasis.
I left my seat and exited the room, my heart slamming in my chest.
I didn’t even know how to find the headmaster’s office. I paced down the wide corridor, which was lined with windows overlooking the lawns outside. I passed doors to other classrooms, and inside, I could hear the droning of teacher voices, sometimes in other languages.
I reached an intersection of two hallways and stopped in surprise.
There, standing in the middle of the two hallways, was Lucien.
He looked like a prince from some ancient, otherworldly tragedy. His robes somehow managed to look majestic on him, and they had a sobering effect on his appearance. Instead of insolent, he looked regal.
And he looked unhappy to see me. His brows drew together, and his lips curved in a scowl.
“I’m looking for the headmaster’s office,” I stammered, doing my best not to cower beneath that angry expression.
He looked at me and didn’t reply. One of his eyebrows lifted slightly.
Just then, the headmaster appeared in the corridor behind him.
“There you are,” she said. “Both of you. Come.”
Both of us?
Lucian turned and stalked in her direction with a kind of grim defiance. I followed, wondering what he’d done to get sent to the headmaster. Whatever it was, though, I had no doubt he was guilty of his accused crime.
We followed Headmaster Windswallow up a winding staircase that smelled like wax polish and sandalwood, past stern portraits of what I could only assume were the previous headmasters. The tips of Headmaster Windswallow’s snowy white wings brushed the stairs as she climbed them, making a whispering sound against the polished wood. Somewhere, I could hear a clock ticking ominously.
We reached the top. Headmaster Windswallow’s office turned out to be in a hexagon-shaped tower with windows that overlooked every direction of the Spellwood grounds.
She took her place behind an enormous desk and gestured at a stone bench against the wall. “Sit,” she commanded.
We sat. Rather, I sat. Lucien draped himself across his half of the bench as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He hadn’t looked at me since the hallway, but kept his face resolutely fixed on the headmaster.
When neither of us answered, she brought her attention to bear on Lucien.
“Drop your glamour, if you please,” she said firmly.
His glamour? I glanced at him, startled.
Lucien shifted on the bench. He sighed, his green eyes glittering angrily. As I watched, his face shimmered and shifted, the perfect smoothness of his sharp cheekbones melting away to reveal dark purple bruises across his jaw and temple, a deep cut above his left eyebrow, and a split lower lip.
“Fighting,” Headmaster Windswallow said, “is expressly forbidden. Do you want to tell me why you were quarreling with another student, Lucien?”
“I do not,” Lucien said stiffly. He still wouldn’t look at me. He kept his eyes focused on the headmaster and his chin was now lifted in a stubborn attempt at dignity.
“That is your choice, but if you choose to remain silent, then I will double your punishment,” she said, and waited.
Lucien still didn’t speak.
Headmaster Windswallow tilted her head thoughtfully. “Well, then. The earthnyms seem to have exploded in population over the last few weeks, and they’ve taken to dancing in the Cistern at night. The stone is covered in moss and will have to be scraped clean. Six weeks, Lucien, every night following the dinner meal until the twilight hour, and absolutely no charms to lessen the labor.”
I wasn’t sure if it was a harsh sentence or not. At least, I supposed, she hadn’t turned him into a frog or sent him home.
“And,” the headmaster added, with a note of compassion in her voice. “I will allow the glamour until you see the healers.”
Lucien nodded. He rose and stepped toward the door as the headmaster turned her attention to me.
“Kyra,” she said. “I must confess I wasn’t expecting this from you.”
She spoke as if she knew things about me. I wondered what she could possibly know. What my bottled laugh and the lock of my hair might have conveyed to the school. Could they read things in the drop of my blood?
Spellwood Academy Page 6
