by M. A. Larson
“I know where they are,” said Ziegenbart. “If I know B-a-a-a-aaagh-agh-agh—ahem!” She shook her head, chasing away the bleating fit. “If I know the Headmistress, she’ll be in the Grandmother’s House.”
“The Grandmother’s House?” said Demetra. “What’s that?”
“Follow me!” The goat trotted past Evie and raced across the road. One by one, the princesses followed, avoiding the hungry eyes of the witches. The harsh sizzle of their dark spells rippled through the roads. Stone walls fell in great, thundering crashes. Giants bellowed in fury from the north end of campus. And the princesses slipped through as silently and smoothly as a snake. Finally, once they’d crested the highest point of campus, where the Queen’s Tower stood sheared off at half its usual height, they began to descend the south end. Ziegenbart’s hooves clopped to a stop.
“It’s there,” she said. “The Grandmother’s House. It’s a sort of safe house where the high-value administrators can retreat in an emergency.” The rest of them peered through the trees. A small stream wound gently down the hillside. On the opposite bank of a quiet little bend, a well-hidden cottage sat tucked into a grove of willows. Even in full sun, it would have been easy to miss. The windows of the cottage were dark, though a small line of smoke from the chimney indicated someone was inside.
“That’s the safe house?” said Evie.
“Look at the stream,” said the goat. “There’s another beyond that hill. What better protection from witches do you need than a ring of water?” She tore off a bunch of grass and chewed it into a green paste. Then she swallowed dramatically and said, “Courage, ladies!” With that, she bounded out from the trees and splashed across the stream.
One after another, the princesses followed. On the far bank, they scrambled across the small grassy patch to the front door. Falada opened it, and they burst inside.
The cottage was bigger than it looked from the outside. There were several doors off the main room leading to bedchambers. A steep flight of wooden stairs at the far end led up to a loft. A cozy fire crackled in the hearth. The windows weren’t windows at all but were completely opaque.
“Evie?” came a familiar voice. There was a small group already gathered there, and a flurry of voices followed as everyone began to recognize one another. “Evie!”
“Maggie!” She ran to her friend and gave her an enormous hug. “Basil!”
Demetra joined them with tears in her eyes. “I never thought we’d all be together again!”
Evie looked at her friends and was overcome with emotion. Though she hadn’t wanted to admit it, she, too, had thought they’d been together for the last time.
“How did you find us in the Grandmother’s House?” said Maggie. “No one’s supposed to know about this place.”
“Princess Ziegenbart brought us,” said Evie. “What are you doing here?”
“We all mustered in Pennyroyal Castle when the wall fell, the lot of us. Everyone who was left. Then the witches came . . .” She shook her head, remembering. “It was so still and so quiet, even the giants. Then we started to see them out there, the witches. They were on the hill. They were inside the wall. We launched an attack. Tried to surprise them.”
“You did?” said Evie, impressed.
“We tried. You would’ve been proud of these girls. Everyone gave it their all. But when the giants came in, we were forced to scatter. The orders were to fall back to Crown Castle, so that’s what we did.”
“Where’s Beatrice?”
“Just there. She’s hysterical, Evie. She can’t even string a sentence together.”
Across the room, a small group of staff members, led by Princess Rampion, was trying to comfort the Headmistress. She was sitting on a chair, and Evie could hear her sobs. “Please! She’ll be so cross! Don’t let her beat me; please don’t let her beat me!” Her skin was as white as bone, the wrinkles like folds in a crumpled parchment. Her haunted eyes were ringed red.
“Ah, good, you’re here!” squawked a loud voice. Princess Copperpot peeled away from the rest of the gathered staff members and lurched over to the new arrivals. “Come, Ziegenbart. Leave one of your team with the Headmistress, and let’s go. There are witches out there that need sorting.”
Evie cut in and explained that the dragons were there to help. She went over her idea to draw the witches in, and Copperpot gave her an impressed nod. Even Lance squawked with approval.
“There is one more thing,” said Evie. “It’s about Princess Beatrice—”
“Not now, Evie,” said Demetra softly. “Let them get out there and fight.”
Evie glanced at the Headmistress, her stomach in knots, and nodded in agreement.
“Right,” said Ziegenbart. “That’s our plan sorted. We’ll need four teams. Me, Copperpot, Rampion—”
“I’ll take one,” said Maggie, stepping forward to raise her hand.
Ziegenbart and Copperpot exchanged a look. Then their eyes went to Queen Christa and Princess Falada.
“I haven’t had combat experience in nearly twenty years,” said Christa.
“Nor I,” said Falada.
“We’ve been preparing for this, haven’t we, girls?” said Maggie.
“We have,” said one of the first-class girls, and the rest agreed.
“Good,” said Copperpot. “Cadet, you’ll take D Team. Follow me up the middle and make sure nothing gets behind us, all right?”
“Yes, Princess,” said the whole of Maggie’s team at once.
“Ziegenbart, you’ll have C Team, and Princess Rampion will take A. Our mission is to cross campus to Pennyroyal Castle to shift the fight north. The dragons will be much better equipped to help us with more open sky.” She looked squarely at Evie, her faced pursed and squishy, yet oddly heroic. “You’re certain the dragons won’t turn on us, Cadet?”
“Yes, Princess. They’re my family. We can trust them.”
Copperpot nodded, satisfied. “All right. A Team, come round east of the Queen’s Tower. Do your best to ignore the giants and keep your eyes open for the Seven Sisters. I’d be gobsmacked if all seven aren’t lurking about here somewhere.”
Princess Rampion stepped forward, nodding to several of the others gathered. “See you at the castle, Copperpot.” They marched out the door and into the chaos.
“See you at the castle. You lot,” she said, nodding to the administrators huddled in the corner, princesses who were far more familiar with management than magic. “You’re with me on B Team. Straight down the lane to glory. Heavy fire to be expected. Gird your courage, ladies. If ever you’ll need it, it’s now. Falada, you were always exceptionally courageous. Care to join us on the front?”
“Of course, Princess,” said the mousy Falada.
“Good,” said the princess with two left hands. Even amidst the mayhem of the day, Evie found herself very much impressed with Princess Copperpot, who was proving to be far better in the field than the classroom. “You, you, you, and you,” she went on, using the leftmost of her left hands to pick out several of the recent graduates . . . and Basil.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You’re with Princess Ziegenbart. I want you to sweep round to the west. Lots of rubble over there at the moment, so stay careful and listen sharp. That woman’s a goat, and she knows how to climb.”
“Team C, with me!” called Ziegenbart. Then she leapt out the door, her team racing after. Basil started off to bring up the rear, but Demetra grabbed his arm.
“Basil,” she said. “Wait.”
“Wait?” he said, panicked. “I can’t!”
“I just want you to know that . . .” She took his hand.
“Demetra? The team’s waiting,” said Maggie.
“Sorry, I just . . .” She reached up, grabbed Basil’s face, and kissed him. He looked at her in shock. He blinked once, and then twice.
“Um . . .”
“Cadet Basil, are you coming or shall we organize a romantic dinner first?” said Ziegenbart with a twinkle in her eye and a twitch in her beard.
“Bye,” said Demetra.
“Right,” he said, stumbling toward the door. “Right, well, I suppose we can discuss this later—”
“Basil!” shouted the goat, and he raced away.
“What sort of foul tastery is this?” muttered Copperpot. “If we weren’t in the middle of a war, I’d discharge you this instant! Now, can we please execute this plan without any more kissing?”
“Everyone else, we’re D Team,” said Maggie, addressing the patchwork group of first-class cadets, siblings, parents, and leftover princesses. “No one gets behind us.”
“Yes, Princess,” they said.
Maggie’s fierce demeanor faded into a somewhat embarrassed smile. “Well, you don’t have to call me that—”
“Let’s move out!” shouted Copperpot. She hobbled outside. Maggie and her team hurried after. She paused at the door.
“Evie! Demetra! Let’s go!” Those two, Demetra’s mother, Liverwort, and Beatrice were the only ones remaining in the cottage.
“I’m sorry, Maggie,” said Evie, staring at Beatrice. “I can’t leave her here.”
“Who? The Headmistress?”
“She’s working with the witches.”
“Evie, this isn’t the time—”
“She belongs in a cell, not a safe house. She’s a traitor.” Beatrice turned to face her. “Aren’t you, Headmistress?”
“What’s going on, Evie?” said Maggie. “That’s the head of this Academy.”
“I . . . I . . . I didn’t mean to . . . to help them,” stammered Princess Beatrice. Firelight reflected in the tears running down her face. “I was only trying to please her.”
“Tell them,” said Evie, and Beatrice began to crumble. “No? Then I will. Our Headmistress here has been colluding with Countess Hardcastle for years.” She took another step toward Beatrice, her anger rising. “You told the witches about the prophecy in our first year, didn’t you? About the Warrior Princess. How else could Calivigne have found out about it so quickly? It’s because Hardcastle was not only one of the Academy’s biggest benefactors, but also one of the Seven Sisters. And you were in step with her all along, years and years of secret meetings both here and at Callahan Manor.”
“What have you done, Beatrice?” said Queen Christa.
“I haven’t done a thing!” The Headmistress’s voice had gone up in pitch to a frightened squeak. She stood, her jaw quivering as she cast about the room for a sympathetic face. She was wringing a silk handkerchief in her hands. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt anyone! Really, it wasn’t! She has this way of making me do things!”
Corporal Liverwort staggered back. Betrayal and disgust began to wrinkle her face. “What’re you on about, Headmistress?”
Beatrice looked around the room but found herself completely alone. She shook her head feebly, then collapsed into her chair, a small, frail approximation of the powerful ruler she had once been. “I did at one time count Hardcastle a friend. Yes. That is true. But I was as surprised as anyone when she turned out to be a witch.”
Outside, there was a great crackling of wood, followed by a thundering crash as a giant tree toppled. In the distance, a dragon roared.
“I can’t stay any longer,” said Maggie. She marched across the room, leaned down, and pointed into Beatrice’s face. “If any of this turns out to be true, I’ll feed you to the wolves myself.” Then she turned and headed for the door. “See you all later,” she said, and before anyone could respond, she was gone.
“Please . . . you’ve got to believe me,” said Beatrice, addressing Evie in a feeble voice. “You’re wrong about the prophecy. I never told Calivigne about you. I never told her who the Warrior Princess was.”
Now Demetra gasped. “So you admit you spoke to Calivigne?”
“Oh, many times,” said Beatrice with an empty smile. “Many times.”
“It’s all true,” said Evie. She was staggered. It was one thing to speculate, but quite another to have it all confirmed.
“She wanted me to lower the wall, but I refused. Oh, she’ll be so cross if she catches me!”
“Who wanted you to lower the wall?” snarled Liverwort. “Calivigne?”
“She’ll beat me again! A girl must never disappoint her stepmother!”
Silence descended on the room, leaving everyone like they’d been frozen in ice. Evie couldn’t breathe. She stared in astonishment at Beatrice, trying to process what she’d just heard.
“That’s right,” came a soft voice from one of the bedchambers. “A girl must never disappoint her stepmother.”
Beatrice shot to her feet, knocking over a small table. Her eyes were wide, her face grave.
Slowly, a figure emerged from one of the dark rooms off the back of the cottage. The wooden floor groaned under her feet. She had to duck beneath the doorway, and when she stood to her full height, she towered over everyone there. Her face was shrouded beneath the heavy hood of her cloak. Two others followed her out of the room. One was Countess Hardcastle, wearing her usual high-necked black frock. The other was Malora.
“Stepmother!” said Beatrice. “How did you—”
“We used one of your trees to make a lovely little bridge. Did you think a bit of water was going to stop me from seeing my stepdaughter again?” Calivigne’s voice was soft and melodic, cold and clean as a razor blade.
A wave of dizziness washed over Evie as Calivigne’s eyes surveyed the room.
“You’re all sodden to the bone.” She raised a hand, and the fire flared to life, bathing the room in orange light. Then she reached up with long, bony fingers and gently swept her cloak to the floor. Her hair hung straight down past her shoulders, as brittle black as charred kindling. She wore a simple black dress that covered most of her arms. The skin that did show looked like frosted glass, nearly opaque but not quite. Faint black shadows traveled through her like cockroaches. She looked more like the porcelain figurine of a woman than an actual person. And yet, despite the glassy smoothness of her skin and the vacancy of her yellow eyes, there was a classical beauty to her face, the unfinished sculpture of the world’s most beautiful woman.
“Come,” she said in her hypnotic voice. “Warm yourselves at my fire.”
EVERY INSTINCT told Evie to run. Her mind spun through half-formed thoughts and impulses. Finally, her eyes landed on her stepsister and the words began to flow.
“Malora! Malora, help us! Please!”
“I can’t—”
“Don’t speak to her, Malora,” said Hardcastle.
“Quiet!” roared her daughter. Then she turned back to Evie with a somber expression on her decaying face. “I’ve done a lot of thinking since I saw you last. You see, I actually felt quite guilty helping you through Marburg. And when I got to the bottom of why, I realized it was because the witches are my family. Not you.”
Evie’s heart broke in two. She stared into her stepsister’s eyes but found no love there. Only emptiness.
“It doesn’t matter whether I want it to be that way or not; that’s just the way it is. They are who I am. It’s in my blood, and there’s not a thing I can do about it.”
“And blood will never disappoint you the way stepchildren do,” said Calivigne, placing a slender hand on Malora’s shoulder.
“I only wanted to please you, Stepmother! That’s all I ever wanted!” Beatrice’s words disappeared beneath her tears. “The day I graduated was supposed to be the happiest day of my life! Three years of training, and you didn’t even bother to turn up! I felt like such a fool.”
“Oh, Beatrice,” said Calivigne in her haunting, motherly tone. “Forever seeking approval.”
“And never finding it! My whole life I�
��ve tried to win your affection! I worked harder and harder, and it was never enough! Even when I became Headmistress General, it didn’t please you!”
“Your accomplishments mean precious little in a sea of disappointment.”
“I . . . I asked to meet with you,” said Beatrice. “Do you remember that? After the witch gave her prophecy about the Warrior Princess. I wanted to stand before you and look you in the eye and tell you that I would be Headmistress when the Academy graduated its most important cadet ever. I would be in charge of making her a Princess of the Shield. I wanted you to finally see that I had value! I wanted you to finally recognize who I really was!”
“Oh, Beatrice, it’s as clear as day,” said Calivigne. “You’re the same mewling little kitten you always were.”
Beatrice’s confidence took another blow. She somehow shrank even lower.
“I asked you one thing,” said the witch. “‘Who is the Warrior Princess?’ But you wouldn’t tell me, would you?”
“You belittled me,” whimpered Beatrice. “Told me I’d wasted my life. That my father would be ashamed. You broke me apart.”
“Yes, and all it got me was that the Warrior Princess’s mother graduated twenty years earlier.”
“What?” said Christa. “But that’s my company! Is that why we were targeted?”
“Of course,” said Calivigne. “But the Blackmarsh isn’t the easiest kingdom to sack. There are a few of your company who have proven quite difficult to kill.”
“The old hag told me after she’d made the prophecy,” said Beatrice. “She said that the Warrior Princess’s mother was in that company from twenty years ago. Of course, that made it significantly easier for me to conclude who it was, but I never told my stepmother! Never!”
So that was what the words on the back of the class portrait had meant: Beatrice said it was this one—ALL MUST GO. The Headmistress had betrayed the company, but not the individual who had mothered the Warrior Princess.
“It’s true,” said Calivigne, addressing Christa. “So, we simply began removing the daughters of your company and then removing the mothers to ensure there would be no new daughters to contend with. Every mother and daughter in one company dead, and there would never be a Warrior Princess.”
