Meeting Daleina’s gaze, Merecot winked, and Daleina couldn’t tell if it was a mocking wink or a friendly one. She did help them pass the earth spirit, though, even if she didn’t stay with them. Daleina opted to smile back and nod, hoping the other girl interpreted it as thanks. Daleina’s smile faded as she saw another girl, lying on a stretcher, with red staining her white tunic. Healers hovered around her and then obscured the girl from sight.
Beside Daleina, Linna clapped her hands and squealed. “We did it!”
“Not bad,” Revi said. “Right? We aren’t the last ones? Okay, not the first, but not last. Do you think we made it in time?”
The judges were barely looking at them. Daleina scanned the crowd for the headmistress and didn’t see her. “I hope so,” Daleina said. The headmistress had final approval over all applicants—legend said she’d even predicted that a young applicant named Fara would become queen. Legend also said that a halo of butterflies had landed on the young queen-to-be’s head, and some in the audience swore they heard trumpets. Daleina guessed that was an exaggeration. At any rate, there weren’t any instruments playing today, and it was too cold for butterflies.
“Let’s go with yes, until someone tells us otherwise,” Revi suggested.
Linna nodded and linked her arms in Daleina’s and Revi’s. Together, they approached the judges’ table. Looking up, Daleina saw Arin and her parents waving at her, as if she’d already won the queen’s crown.
CHAPTER 4
The headmistress’s office was filled with sunlight. It poured in through the windows in the ceiling and the wide window behind her desk. All the glass had cost a small fortune to have shipped from the islands of Belene, but Headmistress Hanna thought it was worth it. Her office was situated at the top of the academy, close to the forest canopy, where no branches blocked the midday light. Hands clasped behind her back, shoulders straight in perfect headmistress posture, Hanna faced the largest window and let the sunlight soak into her.
She hated this day, entrance examination day. All the applicants came so full of hope, and it was her job to crush that hope out of them before the academy crushed them. It felt like being cruel to sweet, fluffy kittens.
Behind her, the door squeaked as it opened, and she heard the shuffle of feet on the thick carpet. She knew without looking that the applicant was trying to step gingerly, trying to keep the muck and water from the maze from soaking into the rug. Listening, Hanna waited while the applicant found a spot of wood floor to stand on, where the mess wouldn’t cause too much damage, but Hanna knew without looking that it required standing in the center of the brightest sunlight. It was all strategic, of course, designed to make the applicants feel uncomfortable and out of place, but it was hell on the carpet.
“So, you believe you can become an heir,” Headmistress Hanna said without turning.
“My little sister does, and I won’t let her down, ma’am.”
Hanna closed her eyes. Spare me the heroes, she thought. The ambitious ones were easier to take. Disappointment just made them angry. The altruistic ones were always so sad. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks. She isn’t here. And she won’t be here, if you stay. You won’t see your family daily anymore or even monthly. You will live at the academy, sleep here, eat here, breathe here. You will work until your muscles feel like sponges and your mind feels like dust. You will have neither the time nor the energy to worry about what your little sister thinks of you. You will need to find the strength from an internal source, not an external one, and if you cannot do that, you will not last.”
“I can do it,” the girl said instantly.
Of course she thought she could. All the girls thought they could. All of them were optimistic, idealistic idiots, with no idea of the cost of failure. Few, if any, had ever witnessed the danger of a rogue spirit. They had no concept of the level of destruction even one could cause, much less the thousands that a queen had to control. “Do you have any idea of what an uncontrolled spirit can do?”
“Yes, ma’am. My village was destroyed by them.”
Hanna was grateful that she still faced the window so that the girl couldn’t see the expression on her face. It was rare, very rare, that villages were destroyed, but when they were, the spirits were usually thorough. She’d never met a survivor. To have one come here . . . Schooling her expression, the headmistress turned to study the girl.
Standing in the sunlight, the girl was a mess. She had mud in her hair, and her clothes were soaked. She’d left a mucky puddle at her feet. She was average height, average size, average everything. Without the mud, her hair might be striking—it was streaked red and gold and orange, like leaves in fall—but right now it was caked with brown muck. Her cheeks still had baby pudge to them, and her arms were tan, showing she spent a lot of time outside. Her fingernails were worn down to the tips of her fingers. She looked very young to have faced such tragedy. But then, all the students looked young. “I am sorry for your loss,” Hanna said at last.
“Thank you, ma’am. It’s the reason I’m here. I don’t want it to happen again.”
Studying the girl’s determined eyes, Hanna revised her usual speech. “I am going to be blunt, because you need to make your decision with facts instead of emotions. You did not do well in the entrance exam. Yes, you passed, because you made it out of the maze in the time allotted”—she saw the girl’s shoulders visibly sag in relief—“but you did not excel. You only used your power once and you expended a great amount of effort in order to control a single, weak spirit with a simple command. To excel at this academy, you must show great proficiency and innate talent, and frankly, I do not believe you possess it.”
The girl did not move, speak, or react. Hanna admired her for that. She’d seen other girls break down in tears at even gentler assessments of their abilities.
“That said, you could still be of immense service to Aratay. You do not have to enter this academy for your life to have purpose and your power to do good. You could work with the forest guards or become a hedgewitch or—”
“It’s not enough,” the girl said.
Headmistress Hanna raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t often interrupted.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but my village had a hedgewitch. She died. It’s not enough. I want to learn more than how to make charms and chant a few simple commands. I want to learn . . .” As if intimidated by the headmistress’s expression, the girl petered out and ducked her head.
“You may not be able to,” Hanna said, more gently. “We all have limits.”
“Then please, I want to find them.”
Hanna nodded. She’d intended to talk this girl out of staying. She’d watched the test, seen her performance, and while she had shown some intelligence and leadership ability, she hadn’t shown much raw power, not like the first girl through the maze, Merecot. That was a girl with power. But it might be nice to have a student with some actual maturity and real-world experience, for a change. The headmistress hoped she wasn’t becoming soft. She couldn’t afford to let sentiment weaken her decisions. It wasn’t fair to the girl, or to Aratay. “It is your choice, then. You have passed, and you may stay. But if you do, be prepared to work harder than you’ve ever worked before. And tell your little sister to be prepared to bury you if you fail.”
The girl bowed. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Don’t thank me,” Headmistress Hanna said. “This is not kindness.”
DALEINA WANTED TO DANCE OUT OF THE HEADMISTRESS’S OFFICE. She’d passed! She couldn’t wait to see Arin and hear her say, “Told you so!” Running down the stairs two at a time, she blew past the other applicants, who were still waiting for their audience with Headmistress Hanna.
“New students, this way,” a woman commanded, and Daleina veered in the direction she pointed. She charged through an archway and then halted.
This wasn’t outside. It was in.
Below her, above her, and all around her was the academy. It was a circle of trees whose trun
ks had been fused together into a ring and whose bark had been smoothed and polished to gleam like marble, a hollow tower with rooms within the walls. Spiral stairs ran up the inner ring, edged with ornate vine-coated banisters that looked like lace. On each level, the stairs produced a platform that cut into the air and also recessed into an archway that led into the interior of the tree. Along the stairs were windows as well, all edged with intricate designs. She guessed they were student rooms, or classrooms. High above, the trees stretched to frame a perfect circle of blue sky.
Far below, on the forest floor, was the practice ring. She’d heard about this: the famous academy ring. So many heirs had trained here: Heir Malliyn, who was said to have fought three rogue water spirits at once and created the Elder River; Heir Rubina, who became the third queen of Aratay and built the first palace; Heir Saphiral, who founded the first border guards and (according to legend) kept back an avalanche for long enough to save everyone except herself; and of course Her Majesty, Queen Fara. It looked like a manicured garden, with a waterfall that trickled down from a spout in one of the trees, and mossy paths between bloom-covered rocks. A thick grove of seemingly mature trees was in the center. Their leaves were lush summer green, in defiance of the season. If the stories were to be believed, these trees could have been grown in a single afternoon and could be felled by dawn. The practice ring was ever-changing, under the constant manipulation of the students. All her tests would be there, as well as some of her classes. She pictured herself there, wielding her power with ease, like an heir in the tales. . . .
A woman in blue thrust a stack of clothes at her. “Clean yourself. Baths are two levels down. Deposit your old clothes in the bins. You’ll bathe every day, after survival class and before the evening meal. You’ll keep your room neat and bring your clothes to me for a new set when you outgrow them. You also will come to me when you are ill or injured, and I will give you a pass to the healers. Unless you are unconscious, in which case a pass will be sent with you.”
“Um, thank you.” She wondered how often students were knocked unconscious, if that was part of the standard welcome speech. “I’m Daleina. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The woman gave her a withering look, all her wrinkles deepening until her face looked like a squeezed cloth. “Room 27B. Your schedule will be on your door. Do not be late. Ever.”
“Where can I find my family? To say goodbye. They’ll want to see me, and I want to tell them I passed.” She held the clothes gingerly, away from the mud that clung to her tunic. Her family would prefer to see her clean and unbruised, even if it took an extra minute. It would help erase her parents’ worry and bolster her sister’s impression that this would be a piece of cake.
“You’re in the academy now,” the woman said. “You don’t have time for family. Everyone has been dispersed, and your parents will be told of your status by messenger.”
“But I didn’t get to talk to them—”
“Bathe and settle in. We are your family now.” She turned from Daleina to shove clothes at the next student, a girl with wide eyes and pinched lips who looked as if she’d rather bolt up the tree like a squirrel than stay a second longer. Daleina wondered what the headmistress had said to her. She lingered for a second more, trying to think of what she could say that would convince the woman to let her see her parents and Arin. She only needed a moment, a chance to tell them that everything would be fine. Finishing, the scared girl scooted over to her.
“Hurry,” the girl whispered. “You don’t want to be on her bad side. That’s Caretaker Undu.”
The name meant nothing to Daleina, but she followed the other girl down the stairs. The steps were smooth and curved, as if they had been worn by hundreds of feet over hundreds of years. “What’s a caretaker?”
“Teachers run the classes, and caretakers run everything else. Caretaker Undu is the head caretaker. She has zero sense of humor and zero tolerance for nonsense. You aren’t from the capital, are you?”
“Outer villages, midforest. I’m Daleina.”
“Marilinara. You can call me Mari.” Away from Caretaker Undu, Mari didn’t seem so scared anymore. She strode into the bathing room as if she’d been there before. Maybe she has, Daleina thought. Maybe everyone else knows where to go and what to do, and I’m the only green one.
“Where are you from?” Daleina asked.
“Here.” Selecting a slim door, the third in a long row of doors, Mari opened it. Daleina caught a glimpse inside: a tub with steaming water and a pile of towels. “Caretaker Undu is my mother.” She then closed the door, leaving Daleina by herself.
Half of the bathing stalls were full. Walking past them, Daleina picked an open one and shut the door behind her. She stared for a moment at the hot bath. Usually baths at home involved a pitcher and a bowl at their feet to catch the water. Mama sometimes heated the water over the fire. Sometimes she overheated it. Sometimes she didn’t heat it at all. It was usually a surprise, and Arin always insisted Daleina go first. She’d then howl in laughter at however Daleina reacted. Arin would have been fascinated to learn that the baths here were hot without any sign of anyone heating or filling the tubs. And to hear about the maze, the headmistress’s office, and the inside of the academy . . . Daleina swallowed hard. She didn’t want to start her first day at the academy with any trace of sadness. She’d see her family soon enough, and she’d tell them everything. Steeling herself, she striped off her filthy, wet clothes, then plunged into the hot water and tried to scrub away all the doubt, fear, anxiety, and the rest.
It didn’t work, of course. But at least she ended up cleaner.
She dressed in her new academy uniform: a pale-green tunic with black leggings, a black sash, and a black ribbon to hold back her damp hair. Clearly, the no-goodbye was meant to make them feel off-balance and vulnerable, just as calculated as making them face the headmistress while still covered in mud from the maze. They want us to feel small and powerless, she thought. But it’s not going to happen. She’d come to the academy to learn how to be powerful, and she wasn’t going to let them break her. She wondered if she was still being tested. Probably. Definitely. Always.
Leaving the bathing rooms, Daleina climbed the stairs again, searching for room 27B. Circling up the spiral, she found it off a small platform, a small round room with a chest for her new clothes, a desk with a chair, and a cot. All the furniture had been grown from the tree itself. Even the chair was rooted to the floor. She stood in the center of the room for a moment, but she had nothing to unpack. Going to her door, she read her schedule: a full lineup of classes, including history and politics, etiquette and diplomacy, magical theory, survival skills, and summoning.
Her heart beat faster at the word “summoning.” She was going to learn so very much, well beyond what Mistress Baria could teach her. She was going to study nonstop, be the top in her classes, and—
“Oh, delightful. You’d think they’d house me near someone my equal.” Merecot opened the door to the second room on the level, 27A. “Please do yourself a favor and quit now.”
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t have what it takes. Anyone can see that. I’m not being cruel; I’m being honest.” Merecot paused, wrinkling her perfect forehead as if in thought. “Well, yes, I am being cruel, but the fact remains, you won’t last.” She shut her door behind her.
Daleina stared at the closed door.
A second later, it reopened. “What?”
“You want me to doubt myself so I will fail,” Daleina said. “You want to undermine my confidence, because you’re afraid you’re not the best.”
Merecot’s lips quirked into a smile that she tried to suppress. “I know I am the best. I just want you to quit sooner so I can have your room. You have the better view.” She shut her door again.
Behind Daleina, from the stairs, Revi said, “Nice. Guess she isn’t here to make friends.”
“She could use an extra class on diplomacy.” Daleina thought of how Mereco
t had washed away the earth spirit in the maze. She hadn’t had to help Daleina, Revi, and Linna. “Still, I like her.”
“No accounting for taste.” Revi opened the door to 27C and checked her own schedule. Tucked behind the schedule was a map of the academy, with class locations circled. “Hey, looks like we’re in the same classes.”
Daleina compared the two schedules—she was right. She then calculated the time, based on the timepiece she’d seen in the headmistress’s office. “And we’re late to our first one. Come on!” Knocking on Merecot’s door, she called, “Hurry! Class has started!” and then she grabbed the map of the academy and sprinted out to the stairs. The classes were held below the living quarters, above the dining hall.
Revi trailed after her. “How can we be late? We just got here!”
“They’re going to make everything as unpleasant as possible, in hopes that anyone who is going to quit will quit and not waste their time. I’ll bet anything that means we start today.” She ran faster down the stairs, and the two of them burst into a classroom that matched the number on their schedules. Other students shifted in their chairs, turning to watch them enter, proving that Daleina was right—and also late.
Slowing, they walked to two empty desks and sat. Trying to quit panting, Daleina scanned the rest of the room—most were older students, their hair neatly tied back and their uniforms crisp and clean. A few with still-wet hair were new arrivals like Daleina and Revi. They faced the front of the room, with their backs straight and hands clasped on their desks. Several empty desks were scattered around the classroom, and Daleina wondered how many of the other new students were missing their first class. Not everyone had even met with the headmistress yet. She didn’t see Linna, though the caretaker’s daughter, Mari, was already there, with her wet hair impeccably braided.
Only a few moments later, Merecot strolled into the room. Her hair, Daleina noticed, was dry. She had no idea how Merecot had managed that. Sitting beside Daleina, she opened her notebook and dipped a quill into an inkpot. She waited, quill poised.
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