Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Lena
When I’m lying on a couch in my therapist’s office a decade from now and she asks, “What do you think the foundational moment was for your development of post-traumatic stress disorder?” I’m going to tell her the story of the last twenty-four hours.
Yesterday will forever be known as the Monday from hell.
I lie awake listening to the sound of rain pounding on the turret roof.
No part of me wants to get out of bed. It’s only day two of classes, but yesterday felt like a full week and this last week felt like an eternity.
After falling—being pushed—into the lake, I have no desire to show my face on campus.
It’s clear my peers don’t want me here. Which, like fine, I’m not a big fan of them either.
Rainy days used to be my favorite days; now, each drop of rain erodes the carefully constructed walls that keep my grief at bay.
When we moved from Montana to Houston, I missed the snow terribly.
So Dmitri came up with this idea that we’d have pretend snow days.
When it was a stormy day, he’d take off work and I’d take off cyber school, and we’d watch movies and eat junk food in bed all day and pretend the rain was sparkling white snow.
Pretend snow days were perfect days. I could really use one of those right about now.
The memory of Dmitri forces me out of my pity party. He taught me to hold my head high, fake it until I make it. He made me laugh, especially when I was sad and missing snow; he also taught me how to be strong. “You’re mighty and brilliant, Solnishko. You are the sun.”
If I were in any other situation, I would’ve already started working on my exit plan.
And while the urge to run is pumping through my blood harder than the rain is hammering on the copper shingles above, I can’t yet.
I need answers. I need to make sense of magic, need to get caught up quickly so I can develop some semblance of an understanding of why everyone seems to want to drown me in the lake.
First on today’s agenda, after getting through my morning classes, will be hunting down my books—which were in fact not delivered yesterday.
I don’t want to trek across campus in a downpour without rain gear, but in order to get my answers, I’ll brave the rain and the potential shame. I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.
I do my best to stay dry by darting from one building to another, sticking to their overhangs when I can.
But it’s no use, almost immediately my clothing’s soaked through.
I opted to wear one of the too-large oxfords as a dress, belting it with a black ribbon I commandeered from one of the grandma dresses, and throwing the oversized blazer on top.
It looked halfway decent before I stepped out in the rain.
Boden, following behind me like a golden shadow, appears to have a sort of magical force field preventing the rain from touching his perfectly pressed preppy clothing and quaffed hair.
When I finally make it inside Nox Hall, I follow a line of students trickling into the lecture hall.
The room is already packed, and many of the seats are already occupied.
There are a few open desks in the second row, but Boden slides into one, and I’m not sure I can make it through an entire class so close to his delightful disposition.
The fervor of the whispering increases with every step I take.
At least the squeak of my wet combat boots across the wood floor drowns out their words.
I find a seat up the stairs toward the back, my nerves prickling along my neck. I remind myself: I’m bright, I’m the sun.
The seat next to me jostles.
‘Hey!” Gemma whispers, as she and Aki sit down, and I exhale a relieved breath at their presence. “How’re you doing?” Her face turns a light shade of pink. “After what happened?”
“Meh, okay.” I project all the voltage I can into my sunshine smile. “I’m glad to have friendly faces in this class!”
“Me too! I’m really looking forward to this course!” She bounces in her seat, and Aki flashes me a smile. I learned last night—before my unplanned swim—that she wants to go into public advocacy. “A bunch of people from the ambassador program took this class and loved it.”
“It doesn’t hurt that Professor Komarov’s hot,” Aki whispers, and Gemma giggles.
“You’re not wrong about that.” My academic advisor is hot, seems like a bit of an asshat though.
Personally Kingdom & House Relations sounds boring, so at least I’ll have something nice to look at.
Or somethings I think to myself as Callum and Lyam enter the class together and take seats next to where Boden planted himself.
Callum glances over their shoulder at me. A shy smile lighting up their face and accentuating the proud set of their jaw. I smile back, a blush rising on my cheeks. Their beauty is so overwhelming—so striking—it’s almost unnerving.
Both Boden and Lyam take notice of where Callum’s attention lingers. Lyam turns in his seat, eyes boring into mine as he shouts across the classroom, “Enjoy swimming in the lake so much that you went for round two, Solis?”
The room breaks out into whispered giggles.
Great. If anyone didn’t know who I was, they do now. I take back what I thought about him being nice to look at. I flip him the bird, just as Professor Komarov walks in and moves toward the desk at the front of the room.
Without looking at me, he says, “Miss Solis, I’m not sure how things are done in human schools, but here, we keep our vulgar gestures to the Sciathán pitch. Please see me after class.”
Shit. I just know my face is bright red as I slouch deeper into my seat.
“This is Kingdom & House Relations, please make sure you’re in the right place,” he says, with his back to the room as he sets up the electronic whiteboard.
“This course focuses on current events, politics, and relations between the four kingdoms and the noble houses that make up their courts.” He turns to face the class, his black suit shifting over his broad chest with the movement.
“I recognize that many of you are progeny of noble and in some cases royal houses.” He glances toward Boden’s group.
“But you will receive no leniency from me. In fact, those of you who grew up in the courts are already at an advantage, and I expect you to excel.” Looking up to the back where our small group is seated, he adds, “For those of you who are less personally familiar with the kingdoms’ courts, you will have a great deal of catching up to do. ”
As he removes his suit jacket and places it on the back of his chair, he continues, “Obviously this is a tenuous, transformative time in our realm’s history.
We’re fortunate to be studying significant historical events as they occur.
What makes right now so unique?” He points to a girl in the front row. “Miss Skala?”
“This year, on Samhain, marks the beginning of the Kingdom Transformare Challenge Epoch.” The girl beams.
“Yes. What’s the Challenge Epoch, Mr. Roux?” Professor Komarov gestures to Lyam before leaning back on the desk.
Epoch—that sounds like the educational part of Disney World.
Lyam explains, “The Challenge opens on Samhain, October 31st—the magica New Year. It’s the start of a year-long period to determine the rightful ruler of a kingdom.
Anyone from a noble bloodline can challenge the current line of succession.
During this time claims to the throne are brought forward peacefully but must be made by the summer solstice.
If no challenges are brought forward by the solstice, the next in line will be crowned the following New Year at midnight on October 31st.”
Well, now I can’t wait to read about this—it sounds like it would make a great reality TV show.
“And if there’s a challenge?” Komarov asks. A few students raise their hands. But Komarov ignores them, focusing on rolling up his shirt sleeves, showing off toned tattooed forearms. I might be drooling a little bit. “Miss Solis?”
“Uh…What?” Did he catch me salivating over him? “I…uh…didn’t raise my hand,” I inform him, since he isn’t looking up.
“I’m aware. Welcome to the Socratic method of pedagogy.” He still doesn’t look at me, and I have no idea what that means. “You should be capable of answering the question.”
“I don’t know what’ll happen,” I admit. “I just got here like three days ago,” I add with a huff. I remind myself that I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.
“And yet that has been plenty of time to complete today’s assigned reading, in which the answer resides,” he chides in a bored tone. Govno! Shit! I didn’t know there was an assigned reading. It’s official: I’m on his shit list. “Miss Bonnaire, what occurs if there’s a challenge?”
Gemma grimaces, answering in a quiet voice, “Then the next in line and the challenger compete for the crown in several challenges after the summer solstice and prior the following magica New Year. Until we have a champion and, therefore, the next ruler of the kingdom. In order to make a successful challenge, a noble magica needs political capital, the backing of other members of court, and enough power to triumph over the heir.”
That seems like gratuitous pomp and circumstance for something that could probably be decided by an election, but I suppose the magical world has a distinct perspective about what makes an acceptable leader.
“Correct.” Professor Komarov taps on his tablet, and an image of each kingdom’s crest appears.
“This Samhain will set off three consecutive years of power shifts. First, the Kingdom of Transformare, and then Convalescere, finally both Devorare and Elementum in the same year. Four of the five royal houses will have a transfer of power. This has never occurred in our eleven-thousand-year history.” A guy with a messy man bun raises his hand. “Yes, Mr. Volkov?”
“Don’t all the kingdoms currently have rulers?” Man Bun asks.