by Isla Frost
At least one of them was lying.
Because I wound up at the dead end of a quiet corridor, and by the time I’d retraced my steps and found the right room, I was late for class.
Thank you, Millicent.
Not the first impression I wanted to make. I could only hope this professor would be more sympathetic than Cricklewood.
In case they weren’t, I drew in a deep, bracing breath, then pushed open the door. At least it didn’t require blood for entrance.
As soon as I slipped inside, I forgot about the professor’s personality.
An invisible line divided the classroom down the middle. The humans were on one side, including Bryn, who must have been late too because she was only just sitting down, as well as Jayden, Klay, and a girl who’d thrown up three times this morning.
On the other side of the classroom, though the seated figures were human in appearance and wearing the same uniforms as the rest of us, something other made the hair on my arms stand up.
Instincts buried so deep that I barely understood them. But on some primal level, I did understand.
They were predators, and I was prey.
World walkers.
I’d never seen one in my life, yet I knew it with utter certainty.
I glanced toward the professor and saw he was a walker too.
Which meant… our Agreement was with the walkers. The most monstrous of all the monsters that had brought about the end of the world as we knew it.
Except perhaps for the devouring darkness that destroyed Europe.
Oh, they didn’t look like monsters. My gaze drank them in. The male with ebony curls and eyes like wildfire. The female with hair the color of frost and flawless skin nearly as pale. The male at the back with cheekbones sharp enough to cut and eyes so blue they put the sky to shame.
I hated them.
Despite their looks, they weren’t angels or gods. They were beautiful, bloodthirsty monsters.
Somehow the fact they resembled us made it worse.
I knew that wasn’t logical. Knew too that there were plenty of monsters in history who were one hundred percent human. Yet fear and loathing and a sense of inevitability tightened my gut.
In that moment, it felt like I’d always believed somewhere in my core that the Agreement must be with the walkers.
But why?
What did they want with us? Why had they offered the Agreement when they did? Why had they offered it at all? Why hadn’t they offered it sooner? Before most of the human, bird, and animal populations had been wiped out?
I’d stood frozen for too long. Students on both sides of the classroom were murmuring. And the professor was frowning in my direction.
“You’re late, Nova.”
How did he know my name?
“Kindly find a seat and don’t delay us more than you already have.”
I swallowed. The walkers noticed the involuntary movement, I was sure of it.
They were predators, and I was prey.
But I was not helpless prey.
I stiffened my spine and found a seat right in the center of that invisible divide. Let them stare at me. Let them whisper. Let them wonder. I could handle it.
I’d been preparing my whole life for this. Training from the moment my mind had evolved enough to grasp the core concepts. To make that secret vow to myself.
I let my hair fall across my cheek to hide the determination setting my jaw and the tug of satisfaction on my lips.
Let them wonder. But let them not wonder why the hunted, helpless human had other things on her mind than running.
There was a fountain pen and notebook on the desk in front of me. I picked them up and copied down the title of today’s lesson in indigo ink.
The Strategies of Guerrilla Warfare.
The teacher rose to his feet with liquid grace. He was tall and striking with skin the color of burnt umber and a penetrating gaze that swept over the assembled teenagers.
“I am Professor Dunraven. And the next time a student is late to my class, they will be punished.”
Mercifully, he did not direct that comment solely to me.
“Now, I’m aware this is your first classroom lecture, so I will explain a few things about this institution before we delve into today’s topic.”
The walkers, I noticed, sat unnaturally still.
I tried to ignore them.
Dunraven went on. “You are about to commence an intense, three-month training and trial period, at the end of which, only the best will continue with the academy.”
“What happens to the others?” Jayden interrupted.
Dunraven’s dark amber eyes rested on him a moment too long. “You will find out if you fail.”
The knot in my stomach wound tighter. And I vowed then that I would be one of the best. One of the kids they selected. And I’d make damn sure Ameline was one of them too. Somehow.
But what Dunraven said next was worse.
“Not everyone is expected to survive the training. We do our best to keep casualties to a minimum, but we care more about the results than individuals.”
His gaze swept around the classroom again, meeting our shocked stares without flinching. As if he hadn’t just delivered a potential death sentence for the sake of results.
“So I suggest you apply yourselves.”
Again, I felt a strange sense of inevitability. I’d never expected my life after stepping through the runegate to be anything but harsh. That was one of the reasons I’d worked so hard to prepare for it.
Now I would learn whether that preparation had been enough. It would have to be enough.
“Both walkers and humans are expected to work together. The staff knows there is bad blood between the species, but we don’t want to hear about it. Here at this academy, you are on the same side—or you will fail. Do I make myself clear?”
A few heads nodded woodenly, and that was enough to satisfy Dunraven. He clasped his hands.
“Good. Then allow me tell you about the Clarion war and the strategies we can derive from it.”
A walker raised his hand and waited until Dunraven nodded in his direction.
“Seriously, sir? We learned this when we were toddlers still growing in our teeth—”
Dunraven spoke with a quiet calm far more intimidating than Cricklewood’s shouts.
“Then consider this a lesson in patience.”
And everyone, walker and human alike, kept their complaints to themselves after that.
Chapter 9
We were given no time to absorb the revelations regarding the walkers or the academy.
The knowledge that we were here to be trained and tested.
That we were supposed to ally with the beings that had destroyed our world.
And that some of us wouldn’t make it.
Professor Dunraven flooded us with historic battles on other worlds, illustrating tactics a smaller force could use against a much larger one. It was a topic I’d barely scratched the surface of in my own reading, and it was all I could do to take notes so I could study them later. Then a mournful chiming of bells announced the end of the lesson.
Dunraven halted midsentence and dismissed the class.
Well, almost.
“Bryn, Nova, stay behind for a moment please.”
We stayed seated as our peers shuffled out. I had the urge to clutch my notebook to my chest in some kind of futile defense, but I left it on the desk.
“I heard you upset Millicent,” he said, coming over and touching a finger to a blank page of my notebook.
“Yes, sir.”
From his finger, green lines spilled onto the paper and arranged themselves until they formed…
A floor plan. Of Millicent Manor, I realized.
He took three steps and did the same for Bryn.
“So you won’t be late again,” he said.
There was no discernible benevolence in the gesture. He just wanted us to be on time for his class. Yet I felt a surge
of gratitude, and it sat uncomfortably indeed to be indebted to a walker.
We thanked him and hurried out in an effort not to be late to our next class. The other students had already disappeared.
We paused to stare at our maps.
Dunraven’s green lines showed the complex warren of Millicent’s two main levels, as well as a set of stairs indicating a basement and the grand set of doors that led outside.
Most of the rooms were unlabeled, but the dormitories, bathrooms, and dining hall were identified in neat green print. There were also five classrooms pinpointed.
Rudimentary Magic; The Strategies of Warfare; Dangerous Magical Creatures 101; An Introduction to Botany; and Survival Skills.
I knew where we were thanks to the Strategies of Warfare label, but what was my next lesson?
As if in response to my unvoiced question, one of the classrooms shaded green. Okay then.
“What do you have next?” I asked Bryn.
“Survival Skills. You?”
“Dangerous Magical Creatures 101.”
Without having to rely on Millicent, we caught up with the other students traveling between classrooms.
The walkers glided through the halls, seemingly unhurried and yet outpacing the scrambling humans who had to check the wallpaper at frequent intervals. Or, in Bryn’s and my case, our maps.
I was pleased to make it to my next lesson when half the seats were still empty and even more pleased to learn Ameline was taking the same class. Her face brightened when she saw me.
I sat next to her, choosing the side toward the center of the classroom to show the walkers I was unafraid. “Did you get the same introduction to the academy as we did?”
Her mouth turned down. “I’m guessing so.”
I’d worried about that. “How are you holding up?”
She doodled something on her notebook. “My botany teacher was nicer than Cricklewood at least.”
I smirked. “That’s not saying much.”
Her mouth turned upward this time. “I didn’t get compared to snail gizzards once.”
I laughed and patted her arm, secretly relieved to see her smile. “A definite improvement.”
Then our teacher walked into the room. “I am Professor Wilverness, and I will be teaching you the perils and peculiarities of many dangerous magical creatures.”
She appeared to be a centaur, or something like it. Her human half had smoky gray skin with a texture reminiscent of bark, an ethereal face, and the most majestic set of antlers I’d ever seen. Her hair, both on her human head and horse’s tail, was thick and long, composed of tendrils of green ivy and strings of wildflowers. The horse’s coat was green too and had a mossy appearance.
“Who knows what I am?” she asked.
Her voice was dry and whispery, reminding me of wind through leaves. And in her presence, the classroom began to smell like the earth after it rained.
One of the walkers answered. “An Antellian,” he said.
“That’s right. Antellians are shifters who are able to take any form they like, though in every form they will bear the telltale antlers.”
Her hooves clopped quietly against the floorboards as she weaved her way through the desks, allowing us to gawk as she passed.
“Antellians can be extremely dangerous if hungry or provoked, but they are quite reclusive by nature. So if you do not threaten them or the forest they call their home, it is unlikely you will come to harm. Does anyone know what makes them vulnerable?”
Another walker raised her hand. “The only magic they possess is that of shifting. So while they’re fast healers and dangerous foes, a mortal wound will kill them.”
“Correct.” Wilverness nodded, sending her long hair swaying around her torso. Her tranquil expression gave no sign she was bothered by this academic discussion of murdering her people.
“If you did not already know the answer to that question, you should be taking notes.”
I shook myself from my stupor and hurried to write it down. When I looked up, the professor had morphed into a dragon. An antlered dragon but a frighteningly realistic one.
Metallic golden scales winked in the sunlight streaming through the arched windows. Wickedly sharp talons dug into the timber floor. And when the creature canted its head to eyeball us, I spied teeth as large as my forearm.
I suddenly understood why this class was held in a room that spanned the full height of the manor. The dragon was so large that when its wings shifted, a breeze stirred my hair.
Wilverness’s voice, though, was the same. “I expect everyone will know what this form is.”
I sensed rather than saw my peers nod along with me, my eyes fixed on the beast.
“The perils are obvious enough. Dragons possess enormous strength, lethally sharp teeth and talons, the ability to breathe fire, and their scales are almost impervious to harm. They are highly intelligent but rarely ally themselves with other species, and they’ll attack almost anything when they’re hungry. Would someone care to explain their vulnerabilities?”
I belatedly remembered to sketch and scribble again.
A walker girl with hair as bright as dragon flame answered.
“They’re cold-blooded, so if you can cool them down sufficiently, their speed turns sluggish and they can only huff smoke. Then if you can get close with a magical blade, you might be able to slay them. Some claim that if you convince them to eat meat laced with dragonbane, that the poison will kill them too.”
“That’s right, but the dragonbane theory is unsubstantiated. What if your aim is not to kill but to escape or avoid detection?”
I scribbled and sketched furiously as the lesson continued, barely able to keep up with the flood of information. A quick glance while I shook out my cramping hand proved Ameline’s sketches were far better than mine. Oh well. Maybe I’d borrow her notes when we tried to memorize this later.
For now, it was all I could do to follow along as Professor Wilverness shifted shapes and explained the dangers, inclinations, potential alliances, vulnerabilities, and best strategies for dealing with each creature. Thank the heavens my pen never seemed to run out of indigo ink.
The professor was like nature itself: beautiful and alluring, but wild and unpredictable too.
Yet she seemed intent on helping us learn, and I wondered why. If the Antellians were reclusive as she claimed, why had she agreed to help the walkers by teaching at this academy? Had they threatened her with something? Stolen her offspring or loved one? Why would she ally herself with the species that wrought so much death and destruction?
“Is anything not dangerous?” one of the human kids asked—after a slew of horrifying creatures that made my head spin.
At first I’d been excited by the information. Maybe a human could survive in the forest if they knew the ins and outs of the creatures that dwelled within. However, as the class stretched on, my excitement waned. It was all very well to know the best way to neutralize a chimera was to rub the spot on its belly that released copious amounts of endorphins, but if you were a human, you’d die long before you reached it.
In answer to the kid’s question, Wilverness transformed into what looked like a watermelon-sized ball of fluff with tiny hooves.
The class giggled and made aww noises before quieting to hear what Wilverness had to say.
“The flum are harmless enough. But they are bitter to eat and not much use for anything except to keep your feet warm during a cold night. Which is why we won’t be covering them in this class.”
She shifted into a troll. A big brute of a beast with beady yellow eyes and moist gray skin that was not the least bit adorable.
“My job is to prepare you to go out into the world and not become a predator’s breakfast. So pay attention, learn which creatures might be persuaded to help you and how to escape the rest, and you might survive until lunch.”
The human half of the classroom tittered nervously. One of the walkers yawned. But none went so far as to e
xpress boredom. Maybe Wilverness had won their respect too.
A human in the front row raised his hand. “What about the devouring monster that destroyed Europe?”
I saw Klay straighten in his seat.
The walkers stiffened.
Tension settled like a blanket over the room.
Of all the things the walkers had unleashed on our world, this, this was the most unforgivable.
Professor Wilverness had morphed back into her centaur form and was standing still and upright, like a deer on the verge of running.
“It is known as the Malus,” she said softly. “The word translates roughly to Devourer.”
“What are its vulnerabilities?” the same kid asked.
“None. That I know of.” She seemed to gather herself. “But the Malus is not yet on this continent, otherwise you’d already be dead. Therefore, it is beyond the scope of this introductory class.”
A shudder rippled along her flank.
“Those of you who continue at the academy may learn about it next term.”
And then the mournful bells broke the spell and called us onward to our next lesson.
Chapter 10
As the day wore on, it grew increasingly clear that not everyone felt the way I did toward the walkers.
Some of my female classmates giggled and swished their hair, sneaking covert glances at the beautiful monsters. A few of the guys sent them lovelorn stares or tried to show off by flexing their muscles or their egos.
Had they forgotten what the walkers had done to our world? Or was the unparalleled beauty of these walker teenagers enough to make them brush the past aside?
I’d never understood why people put so much stock in appearance. My grandmother had been blind, and she’d been the best judge of character I knew.
Other classmates wore their hatred for the walkers openly as if it were a badge of honor. Those kids stared too, but it was with clenched fists and faces tight with anger.
