The Academy (Perrault Chronicles Book 2)

by Cordelia Castel

  It didn't take Dora long to start talking again. “Rilla, tell them about how Lord Bluebeard tried to whisk you away.” She turned to her friends. “I don’t know what her deal is. He’s a fine, devoted man offering her a life of comfort and riches, and she hates him.”

  Rilla and Millissa both shared exasperated looks.

  Millissa shook her head. “You shouldn’t believe what you see in the papers. He might have one or two good qualities, but he’s no romantic hero.”

  Dora grinned. “Whatever you say.”

  After eating, they made their way to a training room for their lesson with Madam Whuppie. Today, they would practice with close combat weapons, and Rilla's stomach roiled. She knew she would humiliate herself as she had before. But if she paired with Millissa, she might not end up lumbering about like a buffoon.

  The weapons table contained the usual array of swords, and Rilla chose a scimitar. It was thinner than the one Lord Bluebeard carried, but she wanted to see whether a curved blade would make any difference.

  Madam Whuppie strode into the room, already clutching her broadsword. “All right cadets. Pair up and strike when I blow the pipe.”

  Freida sprinted across the room and jumped in front of Rilla, holding aloft her rapier.

  “No, no. That won't do.” Madam Whuppie marched over, shaking her head. “Cadet Vern, you are to pick another partner at once. This is hardly appropriate.”

  Freida jutted out her chin. “I consulted Doctor Morgen. Sparring is fine between both parties to a boon. Besides, everyone else is already paired up.”

  Rilla glanced around the room, and indeed there were no more available students. She asked, “Does the boon by any chance prevent social humiliation?”

  “Of course not.” Freida snickered, then lunged forward, knocking Rilla’s sword out of her hand.

  Rilla yelped and backed away, but the Princess sped forward, slashing with speed. Freida's eyes gleamed with malice, her face frozen in an insane grin. She swiped at Rilla’s leather bodice, cutting into it a thin gash.

  Rilla gasped. Her back hit the wall.

  With a maniacal giggle, Freida brought the blade down on Rilla’s skirt, exposing her thigh.

  Hot with rage and shame, Rilla shrieked and grabbed the ends of the fabric.

  “Freida, enough!” Madam Whuppie cried, scandalized.

  The Princess was beyond reason, her eyes manic and her swordsmanship just as insane.

  Cadets Roland and Esben pushed forward to cheer on the fight and catch a glimpse of female skin. Prince Behr stormed out of the room. The rest of the students, including Gwynter and Jacques, looked on, frozen in shock.

  Rilla ducked and dived away from the whipping rapier. “What in the Seven Kingdoms are you doing?”

  “You ruined everything,” Freida shrieked. “Armin’s favor was mine, not some common servant's. You’ve taken everything from me.”

  Everyone, even Madam Whuppie, seemed more interested in the gossip than in stopping the rogue princess.

  Once again, Rilla was on her own. She reached into her ruined bodice, ignoring the jeers from the eager men who thought they would get a show, and withdrew her shrunken staff.

  Freida cackled. “What, are you going to write a letter to the Prince with that pencil? Complain to him of how your betters are putting you in your place?”

  The quarterstaff expanded to combat size, and Freida's eyes widened.

  “Not even an enchanted staff can help you,” she sneered, getting ready to strike again. “I’ve been fencing since I could hold a foil!”

  Without responding, Rilla blocked each of the sword’s blows then knocked the weapon out of Freida’s hands.

  “How dare you?” The princess stared at her empty palm. She glared up at Rilla, then charged. Her fingers curled into claws, ready to scratch Rilla's face. Acting quickly, Rilla knocked Freida’s feet out from under her, sending her crashing supine to the floor.

  Madam Whuppie clapped. “Excellent, Cadet Perrault. What marvelous restraint. You could have let her hurt you and allowed the boon to take care of her, but you didn’t do it. How noble.”

  “I… I suppose.” Rilla shrugged. She hadn’t been thinking of it that way.

  “And you.” Madam Whuppie turned to Esben and Roland with a withering glare. “That was a sickening display, whooping like dogs and encouraging a young woman’s ruin. You have earned yourselves the privilege of escorting Cadet Vern to the infirmary. Stay there until Doctor Morgen can work out what went wrong in her head.”

  Groaning, the boys lifted the incoherent Princess up by each arm and carried her out. Gwynter followed, frowning and nibbling on her bottom lip.

  The next class after was Unarmed Combat, which made Rilla feel much more comfortable. Fists were so much easier to deal with than a sharp blade hacking away. The instructor, Corporal Thomas Hickathrift, was a huge man, similar in size to Lord Bluebeard. While both men had blue eyes, Corporal Hickathrift's gaze sparkled like light bouncing off a river.

  He surveyed the class. “Perrault, I want you to team with Roland and Esben. I fear that none of your female colleagues will give you a decent fight.”

  The young men leered at her and winked.

  Everyone else got into position. With Freida still in the infirmary under Doctor Morgen's dubious care, Gwynter paired with Bianca.

  “Go,” said the instructor.

  Smirking, both young men lunged at Rilla as if trying for an embrace. She dodged, striking left at Roland's temple then smashing her elbow into Esben's belly. While they staggered, shocked and disorientated, she grabbed them both by the back of the neck and knocked their faces together. She dropped them to the floor and scowled, remembering how they’d cheered to see her stripped by Freida’s blade. When she looked up, her classmates were staring at her with terror, likely intimidated by her strength.

  She shot back a defiant look. None of them stepped forward to help her while she was being humiliated. Why did they think she would not teach the leering fools a lesson?

  After that display, neither Jacques nor Behr wanted to fight Rilla, so she left early with Corporal Hickathrift’s blessing. She dashed to the common room, eager to see her marks for the theory subjects. After working so hard, she knew she had passed. The only question was whether she would receive a second class grade or first.

  Rilla opened the common room door and instantly thought of that wonderful morning with Armin. Her gaze settled on the navy blue loveseat she’d shared with her friend while they chatted over tea.

  A huge, slate easel stood in the far corner of the room, with names and scores listed in white chalk. She scanned through the names, looking under P. What she saw made her blink several times to make sure she was reading it right.

  Cendrilla Perrault

  Art of Assassination - First Class.

  Her lips parted. She'd expected a third class or worse in that subject, since Madam Florian had once failed her for handing in her thesis too late. Rilla continued reading.

  Art of Abduction - Third Class.

  Rilla's stomach dropped. She had studied hard for that class, even backing up every assignment with facts from library texts. She even knew every theory about the abduction of Prince Evander, and why the fairy had returned to the ogres.

  Her breath caught when she glimpsed the last two results.

  Alchemical Defense -Third Class.

  Magical Flora and Fauna - Fail.

  Rilla staggered back and fell into a soft armchair. She stared at her knees, not knowing what to do. It seemed impossible that she could do so badly on those two classes. Master Capello wouldn't fail her out of spite. He always paid Rilla compliments on her work, and she could now recognize every alchemical elixir by sight and smell. After so much study, she could even recite their properties. General Cazador’s classes weren’t difficult, and Rilla always knew the answers to his questions.

  She slumped further into her seat and hunched her shoulders. Now she’d failed Magical Flora and F
auna, she had to pass the final Combat assessment or she would be expelled. She pictured Madam Florian’s gloating face, telling her she’d failed because she was only good for scrubbing chamber pots or pulling ploughs.

  Her head shot up. Had Madam Florian arranged this? She seemed devious enough to give Rilla top marks in her subject so she could deny sabotage elsewhere. Rilla shook her head. It didn’t matter why her grades were abysmal. She could always speak with the Chancellor and ask for a re-marking of her assignments. Cringing, her head dropped. After the awful display from the day before, she wasn't sure if Professor Engel would still be on her side.

  “Perrault, nice fighting today.” Jacques jogged past and stopped at the board. His huge grin let Rilla know he'd passed everything.

  He looked down at Rilla, offering his hand. “Are you ready for your first dance lesson?”

  Rilla stood, nodding.

  He frowned. “What’s wrong?” She shook her head and pointed at her marks. Jacques turned to the board and whistled. “That can’t be right. You study harder than anyone.”

  “Well, it’s there in chalk,” she replied.

  With his index finger, he smeared all but the results for Art of Assassination. “Which can be rubbed out. Are you going to accept this?”

  “I was going to see if I could appeal.”

  “Good idea. Let's go! You belong here.”

  They left the common room and made their way to the Chancellor's office, where most of the clerks worked. Rilla couldn’t help but smile at the fact that even someone who had been friends with the Princesses was aware of her true abilities and value. It felt good, and she almost forgave Jacques.

  The Tavern

  The Chancellor was not in his office, but his clerk agreed to pass on Rilla’s request to investigate her poor grades. While she wouldn’t pin her hopes on having her Magical Flora and Fauna failure overturned, it was a relief to know she was doing everything she could to avoid being expelled.

  Jacques found an empty classroom on the top floor of the main building and set a music box on the windowsill. He and Rilla pushed the tables to the edge of the room, then Jacques demonstrated the basic steps of the waltz. Rilla found it easy to follow his instruction, but when they joined hands to dance as partners, she tripped over her own feet

  Jacques caught her before she toppled over. “Concentrate, Perrault,” he murmured. “As a beginner, you need to give it your full attention. Keep your steps slow for now. We can speed up later.”

  “Sorry.” Rilla performed the steps, even if they were in slow motion. With every repetition, she felt the steps engrave themselves in her memory. She smiled. Jacques’ encouragement and patience were boosting her confidence, and after an hour of practice, she felt like she could at least do a basic waltz.

  At the end of the session, Jacques offered his arm to escort her out of the classroom. “We were all beginners at some point. You’ll get it, I promise.”

  She nodded, a flush warming her cheeks, and they made their way downstairs to the dining hall. It was already dark outside, so the lanterns were illuminating the stone hallway, with their warm, orange glow.

  “It’s incredible that you get to go to the engagement ball,” he said, eyes sparkling. “Is it true you were trying to marry the Prince?”

  An ache swelled in her heart, and its tentacles wound around her throat. She still hadn’t plucked up the courage to finish the letter extolling the charms of the magnificent Princess Olga of Tundra. Her head dropped to her chin. “I was a servant. Why in the Seven Kingdoms would I set my sights on him?”

  Jacques let out a nervous chuckle. “When you put it like that, I suppose the rumors are ridiculous.”

  “He’s a friend, and I’m honored that he calls me such. That’s all.”

  “I see.” Jacques paused and licked his lips. His gaze darted around the hallway as though he was about to impart something he did not want overheard. “Is there any chance your invitation gave permission to bring a guest?”

  Rilla narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw. While she found Jacques charming, she hadn't forgotten his conduct with the Princesses. And the young man still told stories about other people’s deeds as though they were his own. He seemed the type to use her notoriety to his own advantage, and she would never give him the chance if she could help it.

  By now, they reached the dining hall, which was full of students eating dinner. She turned to Jacques. “It wasn’t written explicitly, and I’m not at liberty to presume.”

  “Well, perhaps—”

  “Rilla!” Dora ran up to the pair. “I passed with seconds in all my subjects. I can’t believe it.” Her blue eyes shimmered, and she grabbed Rilla's wrists. “Thank you. Thank you!”

  Dora was all but crying with relief, which surprised Rilla. Her friend always seemed so laid back, her only real anxiety being her semi-literacy.

  “It means everything to me to be here.” Dora sighed. “The weather is mild, the food is good, and the beds are warm, even if they’re lonely.”

  Rilla gasped and her friend gave her a roguish wink.

  Jacques cleared his throat. “I see Bianca. Good evening, ladies.”

  Rilla watched him speed walk to the quiet princess. She sighed, relieved to not have to deal with his attempts to get invited to the ball. Why Jacques hadn't asked Bianca if he could go with her, she had no idea. She turned to her short friend. “Have you eaten yet?”

  Dora grinned. “I passed my classes. We have to go out and celebrate.”

  Shaking her head with a smile, Rilla allowed Dora to drag her to the main exit of the building. If the girl she’d tutored had passed, Rilla’s own marks must have been sabotaged. Before they could leave the grounds, guards at the gate stepped into their path.

  “We’re sorry,” said a tall steel-haired soldier. “After the dragon incident, students cannot leave the grounds unaccompanied.”

  Dora pointed to two male soldiers strolling beyond the gate. “Do they count as company?”

  “Well—”

  “Hey fellas!” Dora shouted, walking over with a sway to her step that Rilla had never seen before. “Fancy some company this evening? Me and my friend are celebrating. What do you say?”

  The nearest soldier, a ginger-haired young man, offered Dora a devilish grin. “We were on our way to the tavern for a few pints. Join us if you like.”

  “These two kind gents will escort us to the tavern,” said Dora. “How’s that for company, then?”

  The guards gave a world-weary nod to Rilla, and she followed her friend and their new companions over the bridge that connected the Academy with the walled city of Metropole. She couldn’t believe what she’d seen. She’d never witnessed a girl act so forward.

  She caught up to them, and the taller soldier gave her a salacious grin.

  Rilla flushed and looked away. Her gaze went to the chasm beneath the bridge, and her stomach churned.

  “And who might you be, my poppet?” he asked.

  Before she could answer, Dora looped her arm into his while holding the other’s elbow on her opposite side.

  “She’s betrothed.” Dora cackled. “Hands off of her!”

  The soldier leered down at Dora. “Think you can take us both on, then?”

  The three of them laughed and bantered about that last suggestion. Rilla walked behind, feeling a little scandalized. While she admired Dora’s confidence, it was hard to witness a friend engage in such overt flirtation.

  They continued down the cobbled streets of Metropole, around the winding road, until they reached a small tavern. Like all buildings in the city, its exterior was a combination of glass windows, oak frames and limestone veneer. The soldiers opened the door and ushered them in. It didn’t take long for a slow hush to spread over the boisterous crowd. The patrons nudged each other, all staring at Rilla.

  Her heart sank at the memory of being mobbed at Madam Modiste's shop. After spending so much time in the Academy among people famous in their own right
, she'd forgotten. She was too distinct in appearance to wander around without being recognized.

  The man working behind the bar dropped his tankard of ale, breaking the silence. “Well, if it isn’t the Warrior Woman of Clement Road, the Dragon Slayer, the woman worth her weight in gold!”

  Raucous cheers and applause followed this pronouncement, and Rilla felt herself turn crimson. Dora dragged her to a center table, and several people pressed close to her. They asked question after question about her exploits:

  “How did you do it?”

  “Are you Prince Armin's new confidante?”

  “What was the dragon like?”

  “Does your betrothed know you’re here?”

  One face after another crowded Rilla's vision. The crowd closed in on her in a miasma of ale and halitosis and sweat. Rilla swayed on her feet, nauseous, feverish and dizzy.

  “Give her some air, you idiots!” yelled Dora. She shoved uselessly at the crowd.

  The tall soldier put his arm around Rilla’s back to steady her. “Stand back, civilians, that's an order.”

  The patrons backed away, to Rilla's relief. Someone brought over a tankard of ale and a handkerchief.

  “Thank you.” Rilla mopped the sweat from her brow. “I appreciate your well wishes. But most of the stories about me in the papers are exaggerations.”

  Suddenly, the soldier who had helped Rilla flew across the room. He crashed into the stone wall with a thud, and fell into a table of old women enjoying some kind of stew.

  Rilla cried out in shock along with everyone else in the tavern. When she turned around, Lord Bluebeard stood behind her, seething and crimson with rage.

  He bared his teeth. “Since the Academy is teaching you to gallivant with other men, you will marry me this night!”

  Rilla shot him a filthy look and turned back to see how the soldier was faring, but Lord Bluebeard grabbed her arm. She twisted out of his grasp, and he let go. “You need to go home,” she snarled, “There’s nothing for you here, and I’m not going to marry you.”