The twins and Jack nod. And so did my parents—or at least my mother…A thought strikes me, and I jump to my feet.
“What’s the matter?” Bri asks, suddenly concerned.
“If my mother went here,” I say, “then my father must have too!”
“That’s what I was saying,” Owen says with a pout. “All the Pendragons—”
“No, I mean my real father.”
Silence greets my words, and I start to fidget, uncomfortable with the sudden admission. Face as red as his hair, Gianakos approaches us. Close on his heels is the rest of the class.
“Was your father a layman too?” he asks, so quietly I have to lean forward to hear him.
“Elias’s mom ran off with a layman,” Owen whispers in my ear. “’S why he’s a little, you know, slow.”
“I don’t know,” I answer. I never knew him, I add silently with a pang.
“It’s unlikely.” Keva speaks up for the first time since Lore class. “Have you seen Lady Pendragon? She wouldn’t dare get caught with anyone who wasn’t of the Blood.”
Elias’s face falls. “I see. I thought, maybe…”
“But perhaps he’s right,” Daniel says, wrapping his arm around Elias’s neck. “Maybe that’s why she kept her own daughter locked away—because her shame was in her daughter’s own lack of talent and would show the rest of the world how she’d hooked up with the wrong kind of people.” He pats Elias’s head. “And you should avoid those people too, if you want to make up for your own mother’s errors.”
I know he means it as an insult, and in other times, I’d have been stung, but right now I’m too busy thinking about my father, the one I know nothing of, and wondering whether he ever was a knight here too.
“Man, I don’t think I have the patience to deal with stupid plants right now,” Owen says, kicking a stone into a small water basin as we make our way to our next class.
“You shouldn’t dismiss them because they’re not as flashy as EM,” Jack says.
“That’s not why,” Owen retorts. “They’re just…useless.”
“That’s not true!” Jack and I exclaim at the same time.
Grinning, we both look at each other until I look away in embarrassment.
“Well, whaddaya know,” Bri says, punching Jack’s shoulder playfully. “You’ve finally got someone you can nerd out over herbs with.”
For the first time that day, I’m actually excited—not only because I’m going to work on what I love best, but also because, nearly twenty years ago, my father may have been taking these exact same classes too. And maybe, just maybe, Bri is right, and things might not be so bad down here after all.
Botanics is held inside a long, simple greenhouse that opens onto the inner courtyard. Boxes of plants are set in rows along one side of the room, while a set of worktables adorn the other, over which potted plants hang. I can already smell the heady scent of lilacs, and the delicate fragrance of roses.
“Good morning, children,” a soft voice says. A girl pops up from behind a shrub of thyme, waving a tiny sickle in one hand. “You should put on an apron and some gloves for today’s lesson.” She moves toward the far end of the greenhouse.
Grabbing a set work clothes for each of us, Bri and I follow the rest of the class to the back.
“At least we get to wear skirts,” Bri mutters, pointing at her brother and Jack, who are desperately pulling on their pants to keep them from sticking to their legs in the intense humidity.
“Is she really our teacher?” I ask, eyeing the brown-haired girl with circumspection. She can’t be more than a year or two older than me.
“What, Professor Pelletier?” Owen asks. A devious gleam appears in his eyes. “Guess who really liked her last year?”
Bri answers him with the same look. “Hadrian,” they say together before bursting out laughing.
“Who’s—” I start.
“Their older brother,” Jack says.
“He never had a chance,” Bri says. “I mean, he’s so prissy, he hates getting even a speck of dust on his uniform.”
“And she rolls around in dirt all day long,” Owen adds with a knowing nod. “It was doomed—”
“From the start,” Bri says. She lets out a heavy sigh and leans on Owen’s shoulder. “Poor soul, condemned to forever watch his love from a distance.”
“Maybe she could teach him,” Owen says.
Bri shakes her head sadly. “He’d be running away every five minutes to change into a new set of clothes.”
The twins roar in laughter, and Jack shakes his head at them. “Their humor is often somewhat…dubious.”
“What’s going on over there?” Professor Pelletier calls out.
Bri and Owen straighten up, their faces scarlet.
“Nothing, Professor,” Owen says.
“Sorry, Professor,” Bri says.
I watch the teacher collect some pink, bell-shaped flowers in a small basket.
“The foxglove, or digitalis,” she says, “is easily recognizable because of its elongated bell shape. It comes in several colors, going over the whole spectrum of pinks, as well as gray and white. Who knows some of its uses?”
“They’re usually used to help regulate the heartbeat,” I say, after making sure no one else knows.
Professor Pelletier nods. “Correct. It’s particularly used in instances of atrial fibrillation. However, and this is what we’re going to focus on, they also happen to be a plant favored by the Fey.”
My initial excitement peters out. Here I was, thinking that I’d finally be able to show everyone that I was actually good at something.
“You need to gently pluck—gently, Mr. von Blumenthal! No need to squeeze them to a pulp.” The teacher walks down between the two rows, looking over at our work. “When you’re done with your pickings, you may grab one of the glass vials by the windows, fill it up with water, then place the flowers in it.”
“What are we going to do with them afterward?” a curly-haired girl asks.
“When you’ve placed the flowers inside, you’ll replace the vials by the windows and let them simmer for three hours,” Miss Pelletier answers. “Which will result in what, Miss Adams?”
The curly-haired girl looks about, uncomfortable. “Scented water?”
“Which we can then turn into essence of—”
The sound of breaking glass cuts the teacher short.
“Elias Gianakos!” Miss Pelletier yells, rushing over to him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Shaking, the boy holds out his bloody hand before him. “S-Sorry, miss,” he says. “I didn’t mean to…”
“No, you never do,” the teacher says. “Go see the nurse. Miss Henderson, come help me clean this mess.”
Without a word, a tall blonde girl grabs a broom and sets to sweeping up the broken shards.
“Happens all the time,” Bri says. “It’s a wonder they ever accepted him into Lake High.”
Jack comes back with one of the few round glass vials left and hands me one.
“One thing’s for sure,” Owen says, nearly dropping his own container, “he’s never going to make it as a knight if he keeps at it.”
“You mean not everyone does?” I ask, carefully dropping the flowers into the water. “Not even after passing the test?”
“Nah,” Owen says, flicking the remains of a flower off his fingers and gingerly picking up another one. “Only those who get through all the trials.”
“Which means you’ve gotta demonstrate your abilities in fighting,” Bri says. “Barehanded and with weapons.”
“And with elementals,” Owen adds.
“And those who don’t want to fight?” I ask, stoppering my vial.
I look up when no one answers. All three of them are staring at me like I’ve just sprouted a pair of horns.
“What?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t you want to fight?” Owen says. “It’s the greatest honor you can get! To defend our world against the Fey w
ho would otherwise kill us all!”
“The Bible clearly says to put your sword back,” I say. “I don’t see why I should fight when I don’t—”
Owen throws himself at me, and we both land among Miss Pelletier’s foxgloves moments before one of the large hanging pots comes crashing down, shattering the table beneath.
I cough as clouds of dust swirl about us before settling back down on the remains of my workstation.
“What happened?” Miss Pelletier cries out. “Is anybody hurt?”
“I-I don’t think so,” I say as Owen helps me up.
“Just your plants, miss,” Bri says. “They’re completely squished.”
“As long as nobody’s hurt,” the teacher says, sounding on the verge of tears.
“Trust the new girl to cause trouble on her first day here,” I hear Keva say two tables over.
“It wasn’t her,” Owen says, angry. “It was Daniel. I saw him use EM!”
“Don’t be silly, Mr. Vaughaun,” Professor Pelletier says with a frown. “Elemental manipulation’s not allowed outside of training until you’ve reached squire level. Go get a broom to clear this up.”
“But that’s not fair!” Owen exclaims. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Did I say you did?” the teacher snaps. “Now get a broom and start sweeping!”
Muttering under his breath, Owen complies, but I grab the broom from his hands.
“You saved me,” I explain.
“Sweet, thanks,” Owen says.
But Bri slaps him across the head. “Don’t be a ninny. You can sweep too.”
Their fight brings down the teacher’s wrath upon us, and we all end up on cleaning duty. By the time the bell rings, the place looks as it had before, minus a few plants.
As we leave, I see Daniel high-five his two friends, and I remember that strange glow I’d seen coming from him in Sir Boris’s class. Something tells me that Owen was right, and that spells trouble for me.
◆◆◆
The next couple of classes are mercifully easy and mundane, which I thank my guardian angel for, not that he had anything to do with my schedule. By the time three o’clock hits, I’ve already managed to get two of Sir Boris’s assignments completed, and the third one well under way. If this keeps up, I’ll have all twenty-seven of them done within the week!
“Miss Pendragon, would you mind telling us what you’re doing when you’re supposed to be listening to me?”
I look down to find that I’ve turned Lady Ysolt’s instructions to shreds.
“I suppose you feel you don’t need this class,” she states, circling me like a vulture. A gust of wind poufs up her hair so she looks like a rooster. “Very well then, what would you do if you saw a crack in your brace?”
I see Bri’s hand shoot up, but Lady Ysolt ignores her.
“Have it repaired?” I venture.
“And how can you tell it needs to be repaired?”
“Because…there’s a crack?”
A few people chuckle, and Lady Ysolt snaps her boots together, her sword clanking against her side.
“And if there are no cracks,” she asks, her voice dangerously low, “does that mean the brace is uncompromised?”
“Yes,” I manage to say around the lump that’s growing in my throat.
A tight smile appears at the corners of her full mouth, not a good sign. “What happens if a rune’s overused without being properly tended for, even if no cracks are apparent?”
Why is she asking me so many questions? This is my first day here. Can’t she give me a break? I see Bri raise her hand again, and I stare at her, willing for her knowledge to pass into my brain, but it’s no use.
“Well, Miss Pendragon,” says Lady Ysolt, “we’re all waiting for your wisdom.”
“I’m not sure,” I say.
“It’s simple, Miss Pendragon. You die.”
I shudder at the words, and can’t help but think back to Agnès and her strange and unexplained death. Could it be that she’d stumbled upon a Fey? But that isn’t possible. We were going to a regular boarding school! And what about my father?
I rub my clammy hands against my uniform in a vain attempt to dispel my unease.
“Which is why you need to pay a little more attention to my instructions,” says Lady Ysolt, jolting me away from my unpleasant recollection. She jostles a basket before her. “Now, everybody grab a ring and fan out. Just don’t forget to return them when lesson’s over.”The class erupts in a general brouhaha. Even Bri can’t control the excited glimmer in her eyes as she reaches for a ring. When it’s my turn, however, Lady Ysolt pulls the basket out of my reach.
“Not you, Morgan,” she says. “You’ll be observing this week.”
With a sneer, Daniel pushes me aside. “Guess Stupid will never become a knight now,” he says to his two buddies.
They laugh as they head for the farthest end of the training field.
“Fine,” I mutter to myself, walking over to the side. “I don’t want to learn how to fight anyway.”
Don’t lie. Admit you’re jealous.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, slumping into the seat. “Look at them. They look ridiculous.”
A few feet away from me, Elias is scrunching up his face in concentration, yelling some strange word over and over again. Not even Bri nor Owen seem to be making much progress with their manipulations either, while Jack, for once, looks completely lost.
They all look like they’re suffering from constipation, my guardian angel notes.
I chuckle. Maybe it’s not so bad to have been left out then.
“Remember your lessons,” Lady Ysolt says, marching before them. “Breathe deeply, and call the elemental out.”
There’s a loud whoop. Over at his end, Daniel’s managed to create a fountain of water, the jet spurting in the air and showering everyone within a five-foot radius.
My eyes widen at the sight. Saint George’s balls, that’s really impressive!
“Very good, Mr. von Blumenthal,” Lady Ysolt says, the plates of her strange clothes reflecting the waning light of day. “I see talent hasn’t skipped a generation in your family. You may want to control where the element goes now.”
She catches the rest of the class staring and claps her hands. “Did I say you could stop?” she yells.
The rest of the students scramble to resume their practice and I, noting nothing more interesting is happening, decide to take a nap instead.
Their methods are so backward, my guardian angel chimes in.
“How would you know?” I retort, placing my arm over my eyes.
And why is there only one supervisor? My guardian angel tuts. Elementals can be quite dangerous, and accidents happen so easily…
“Stop always being such a downer,” I say. “This school has taught this for centuries. You don’t think they know what they’re doing?”
Doing something dumb over a long time doesn’t make it any less dumb, he continues in his usual mocking tone. How long was it again that humans believed the earth was flat?
“Seriously?” I ask back. “You can’t even let me rest for five minutes?”
My guardian angel doesn’t reply immediately, then says, It seems awfully quiet all of a sudden, don’t you think?
Realizing he’s right, I scramble into a sitting position and find Keva frowning down at me.
“Who were you talking to?” she asks.
“No one,” I say with a flush.
Keva narrows her eyes at me. “You’re schizophrenic, aren’t you? That’s why your family kept you away all these years.” She grimaces. “Class is over. Ysolt wanted me to let you know.” As she leaves, I hear her add, “Worse than I thought, she’s completely mental!”
◆◆◆
The rest of the week passes by in a blur. By the time Friday hits, I don’t think I’m making any sense anymore, not to myself nor to anyone else willing to listen long enough to my babble.
“You’re never going t
o catch up if you keep doing that.”
“Doing what?” I ask.
Jack points down at my notebook, where a large ink stain has spread over my latest essay on the habits of bogeys and their lesser-known cousins, the domovois.
Jack snatches the notebook from under my hand. “Really, Morgan. Bogeys aren’t afraid of books, not unless you think you can him bash their heads in with them, which is highly unlikely.”
“Just hand that back to me,” I say. I tear the sheet of paper out and apply myself to copying my first answer over.
“Can’t you just finish it for me?” Owen whispers across the table.
“You’re not going to learn anything if I do,” Jack retorts without looking up from his book.
“I will,” Owen says. “I’ll just memorize what you wrote for the exams.”
Jack wrinkles his nose in disgust, but picks up Owen’s essay. Giving up, I let my pen drop and recline against my seat. Over the last five days, I think I’ve spent more time in the library than in any other room.
I stare up past the arcing bridges at the vaulted ceilings five floors up. Bri was right. Despite my initial awe of the place, I’m already getting sick of it.
“You can’t call domovois Peeping Toms, Owen,” Jack says, crossing out Owen’s answers furiously.
“Why not? I distinctly recall one got caught trying to sneak into this woman’s bed while her husband was gone.”
“That’s because she’d let the stove run cold and the domovois was freezing to death,” Jack says. “You have such selective hearing.”
“It’s so creepy,” Bri says, “to have a Fey live with you like that, don’t you think? And those poor people were so afraid, they couldn’t even do anything if the critters got pissed at them all of a sudden.”
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Owen starts.
“Well that’d be a first,” Jack retorts under his breath as he rewrites a whole section of Owen’s essay.
“What if people can have stronger affinities for certain elements, and not others,” Owen continues, unfazed. “Maybe Daniel’s just better at linking up with nymphs and sylphs than the rest of us, and that’s why he’s gotten so good so quickly.”
“Or maybe he’s better at it because his blood’s purer,” Bri retorts. “He’s from one of the original families, after all.”
Morgana Trilogy Complete Series Page 7
