Chapter 35: The Academy.

The door kicked open again. The latch I had mended the night before held for precisely two heartbeats longer than it should have, and then a flame-covered boot struck the wood and the frame cracked anew. Ash and I had stirred at the first thud. Our eyes opened by the second. We stared at each other by the third -the one that forced the door open

“-seriously, what did you DO to this latch, it’s even harder than last-“

I was not yet fully awake. My eyes opened and closed slowly. I had always woken quickly, and yet this slumber had been deep. The room was grey with early light. The egg sat warm against my side, nestled between the pillow and my arm. Ash’s arm was across my chest. One of my arms was currently pinned under her side. We both stared at each other for a moment, then turned to look at the door.

Somehow, I had expected this. Perhaps that was why I was slow to react. Ren stood in the doorway. Her red hair was wild, her eyes were wide, and her mouth had frozen in the exact shape of some word I could only guess at. She was staring at us.

The color that rose in Ren’s face should not have been possible without some application of her mark. It started at her neck and climbed past her jaw, past her cheeks, all the way to the tips of her ears, until her entire face matched her hair. Her mark flared, and I saw wisps of fire leaking from her ears. She pointed. Her finger shook. “I- you two- I had no idea you were- oh God. Oh Divine forgive me.”

I frowned as I cleared my throat. “What? It seems destroying doorframes is an odd hobby of yours after all.”

“Sorry! Sorry sorry sorry.” She was already turning, spinning on her heel so fast she nearly tripped over the ruined door frame. She faced the corridor with her back to us, both hands pressed against either side of the doorway. “I didn’t know! Nobody told me! I just- I’m s-supposed to lead you to the chamber in a few hours! I just wanted to make sure you were awake at least! Tour! Uniforms! Breakfast! I’ll be outside!”

She spoke fast, until all of the words fought over each other. I could only understand perhaps one in three. She was gone before the last word had finished. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor at a pace that suggested her mark also granted [Flight].

I sat up slowly. The egg pulsed once against my side. Ash’s arm slid from my chest as I moved. Mine pulled out from under her. I stared at the doorframe. The wood I had mended with Bloom was cracked open again, in almost the same place. A faint wisp of smoke curled from the latch. “She broke it again,” I said, using my right arm to wipe at my eyes.

Ash had risen onto one elbow. Her face was doing something I could not quite read. There was color in her cheeks and she was not meeting my eyes. “She did,” Ash agreed carefully.

“What was that about?” I asked. “I do not think she is intelligent, but she was capable of coherent speech last night.”

Ash’s colour deepened. She sat up fully, ran a hand through her hair, and looked at the far wall with what I could only call intense focus. “Perhaps…she simply had some strange ideas. That’s all.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s the answer you’re getting.”

I studied her for a moment. My own words on her lips did not sound ill placed. The colour in her face was quite pronounced. Perhaps the room was warm again, though the broken door should have let in a draft. I would let this go, for now. Either way, it seemed that we needed to get ready. To change into the strange clothes all of these people wore, as that Inker had insisted. The pair of grey uniforms lay folded on the large table between my bed and where Ash’s bed had been.

I rose, walked over and inspected the garments. It looked plain and was coarse to the touch, with no sleeves at all. The trousers were a darker grey. One was clearly cut for me, while the other was cut for Ash. I handed Ash the smaller one. She had the nerve to look surprised.

I turned away from Ash and pulled Martha’s dress over my head. The morning air bit at my skin. I worked the grey tunic past my left horn -it always caught on the left, for some reason- and then the right. When I turned back, Ash was half changed.

The dress she’d worn was gone. Scars ran across her back and shoulders, more than I had noticed before. White ones and old ones. The muscles beneath them were lean and defined, though the frame they sat upon was not just a warrior’s. There was breadth across the shoulders that I had known, but the way it gave way to the line of her back, to the deep curve at her waist-

My gaze lingered for one second. Perhaps two. Ash pulled the grey tunic over her head and turned, adjusting the collar. The tunic sat differently on her than the dress had. Without sleeves, I could see where the scars ended and the muscle began and where the muscle gave way to everything else. She caught me looking. Neither of us spoke at first.

“It suits you,” Ash finally said.

I glanced down at my bare arms. Red and green Lines where black and white should be. “It is not the worst thing I have worn,” I said, and turned away. It really was warm despite the draft.

After a moment, I reached for the satchel, and then the egg. It sat where I had placed it, cradled in the pillow. It pulsed once beneath my fingers. I placed it in the satchel with care, adjusting the cloth around it. “We will not be long out,” I said. “Perhaps you will like to see this Academy yourself.” I slung the satchel over my shoulder and moved toward the door. Ash followed behind, yawning. I looked back once, at the room that was now, apparently, ours.

Ren was waiting in the corridor, leaning against the opposite wall. She had composed herself since her retreat, though the red in her cheeks had not entirely faded. She straightened when she saw us and immediately began walking, not checking whether we followed. “Mess hall’s this way. You guys better keep up or I’m just going to leave you behind.” She had a bowl of…something in one hand already. Perhaps that was what her earlier flight had been for. She did not look at either of us directly.

“You both better listen up, cos I’m only gonna say this once! The mess opens at sixth bell but the good bread is always gone by the quarter mark because Tomias and his cronies get there early like the fiends they are. The food is bleh, but there’s a trick to it. The trick is the porridge. Nobody touches it because everyone thinks it’s bland, but Marissa puts honey in if you ask nicely, which I always do because I have excellent manners.”

She had not taken a single breath. Ash and I glanced at each other as we walked behind her. “Also, don’t sit at the third or the first table. You better not forget this one. Lena’s group claims at least one and they will make your life tough. Don’t sit at the fifth either, though there aren’t that many Crests. The second and fourth are fine since you’re both Lines.” She paused, squinted back at us. Her gaze almost met mine before it darted away again. “You’re not writing any of this down.”

“I will remember,” I said.

“You can’t possibly remember all of that!” She said, still walking.

“I have memorized far more in my time, more than you will ever have the chance to learn. I can manage this.”

Ren stared back at me, opened her mouth, closed it. She turned to Ash. “Is she always like this?”

“Yes,” Ash said, and I caught the trace of warmth in her voice.

Ren led us down two flights of stairs and through a corridor wide enough for four abreast. Our destination must have been nearing, given Ren’s faster steps and the growing sound. The mess hall was a long chamber lined with heavy wooden tables, many of them packed with students. Steam rose from a long line at the far end, where a broad woman ladled something into bowls.

Several gazes fixed on us from the moment we entered. Focused on me, specifically. I had been watched before -I had been watched for centuries- though the nature of the watching had certainly changed.

“Half-demon,” I heard, from somewhere to the left.

“Look at those horns.” I heard from further away

“…another one? As if she already…” The rest was swallowed by the noise.

A boy at the second table from the left stared openly, his spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. A girl with branching violet markings on her forearm nudged the girl beside her and nodded in my direction. The girl looked, then looked away too quickly.

Ash stepped in front of me, though she had been trailing one step behind this entire time. Ren led the way inside, and we followed. Their childish gazes were beneath my notice. Ren led us to the line. It took no time at all to understand how this strange custom worked. We had to wait our turn. It seemed the strong was not simply served first.

The author’s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Ren talked to the woman pouring the strange liquid. It was called porridge, or so Ash had said. We sat at one of the tables. The porridge was warm. There was, as Ren had promised, something very sweet and thick at the bottom. This was honey.

I ate one bowl slowly. I finished it. It was oddly thick on my tongue but not unpleasant, though the stew had been better. I stared at the empty bowl. I glanced at the line that had not thinned at all. Would I need to waste my time for another? I would not. There was a scraping sound. A half filled bowl appeared in front of me. I glanced at it, then glanced at Ash then stared at Ash’s now-empty place on the table, where her own bowl had been.

“You’ll want it more than I,” Ash said simply. “I don’t feel like it.”

It tasted like a lie. This was a tribute, then. One any retainer would give to their Lady. I would claim it, as was my right. I took the bowl. I ate it. It tasted better than the first. Ren watched this exchange with narrowed eyes but said nothing.

After that, we began the ‘tour’, such that Ren called it. The red-haired girl walked at speed, narrating everything. Neither Ash nor I had asked for this. I had explicitly commanded her not to. She had not listened.

She showed us corridors that all looked the same to my eyes, though each apparently had its own significance. The main hall. The eastern wing, where the advanced students trained. The western wing, where Initiates like us were supposed to be housed, if not for our ‘special status’. She made that last point rather clear. The central yard, where some lectures were held in the open air. Other classrooms, many of which had been full as we passed by. The heads inside always turned to us as we passed.

As we moved through these corridors, the looks continued as did the whispers. An inker, a thin man in threaded robes, pulled a stack of papers closer to his chest as I passed. An inker woman steered a younger student to the far side of the hall, one hand on the boy’s shoulder, her eyes never leaving my horns.