Chapter 10 #2
We ended the day with physical fitness, each house on their own for this part. Yvonne, the slender girl who rarely spoke, crossed her arms at the mention of strength training.
“Exercise might sound boring to you,” Luther snapped. He was apparently in charge of whipping us into shape. “But being strong enough to hold on during an upside-down maneuver or not sling your dragon off course during a tight turn in a championship race might sound a little more important.”
Yvonne slowly uncrossed her arms.
“And perhaps even more important than that,” he said with a malicious smile, “this part of your training will help you all bond as a class.” His smile darkened. “You’re going to need it to survive here the next three years.”
Adrenaline had fueled me most of the day, but my energy was waning as we turned our second lap around the school’s grounds. The well-worn path started at the lair, wound through the woods, and hooked around a lake nestled out of sight.
That night, we feasted on roast chicken with a garlic cream sauce that tasted like heaven, fresh greens, and more vegetables than I’d ever seen served in a single meal.
It wasn’t until I’d taken a huge bite and garnered a few disgusted looks that I recalled Fairfax’s training.
Though I knew I wouldn’t starve here, I couldn’t convince my body of that fact, and I ended up eating more than every other girl at our table.
When the meal concluded and Headmaster Vaughan dismissed us, Shep and Luther strolled past our table. Shep slowed. “Good first day?” he asked, eyes scanning each of us in turn.
Luther huffed but waited for his friend.
“Yes,” Vanya answered. “Thank you.”
He leaned down toward us, bracing himself on the table. “The first night race is coming up. And to be—”
“What’s a night race?” Vanya asked, cutting him off.
Scarlett snorted and looked away, enjoying the fact that she knew more than the princess right now. For once, I knew more than Vanya, too. But I let Shep answer.
Shep smiled at Vanya. “The students race their dragons through the city streets at night. And not just any streets. The course goes through bottomside.”
I stared at my hands in my lap, trying to conceal the stiff frown on my face.
I’d heard plenty of rumors about night races, but I’d never known the racers were Cardan Lott students.
I’d always thought they were gang members who cleared the streets with their pistols and threats so they could create more reasons to gamble.
Though I’d never seen a night race, everyone in my neighborhood knew about them.
“Is that legal?” Vanya asked.
“Not at all,” Shep said, smile widening. “The race goes under some of the bridges.”
She blinked in surprise. “That’s impossible.”
“Wait till you see it,” he said, directing his words to all of us.
“Shep, don’t…” Luther warned.
Shep tapped the table with a knuckle. “First years aren’t always invited. But if you want my advice, try to stand out these first few weeks. Be noteworthy.” Walking away, he pointed at us. “Noteworthy.”
As I laid my head on the pillow, relishing the idea of a good night’s sleep, I thought about Fairfax’s words to be successful here.
He had hinted at academic success, but the real reason he wanted me here was to win a race—and to win against these heirs and heiresses who’d been riding dragons for years, I’d have to do more than listen during lessons at the lair.
I’d need to practice more than all of them, and what better way to practice winning a race than to actually win one?
If there was a way to get into the night races, I’d find it. But before I could enter, much less win, a night race, I’d need to know what they were like.
Rolling over, I vowed to be noteworthy enough to get that invite.
When the bell in the clock tower tolled eight times, the sound coupled with the light pouring through the window woke me. I groaned as I rolled over from the exact position I’d fallen asleep in. Classes started in fifteen minutes.
“We’ll be late,” I muttered, trying to pry myself from the bed. But it felt like trying to pry a flattened fly from the wall after swatting it.
Vanya muttered something in her native language and rolled over, covering her head with the blankets.
I pushed mine aside and stood, stretching for several breaths before getting dressed for the day.
When I was ready to leave the room, Vanya still hadn’t gotten out of bed, despite my best efforts to encourage her to do so.
“I’m a princess, remember?” she grumbled, her mouth smeared against her pillow.
“I thought the whole point of you being here was to prove that you wanted to learn our customs, be a symbol of friendly camaraderie between our countries,” I said, lifting my arm as if giving a speech.
Vanya rolled over and gave me a narrow look. “Fine,” she said, throwing the covers off in a dramatic way. When she was finally dressed, I rolled my eyes and turned toward the door. All the books I needed for the classes before lunch were tucked under my left arm.
Trays of food had been brought to the common room’s dining area, and several students were picking their way around the table, grabbing pastries or fruit or slices of cured meats.
Camille sat at one of the small tables near the large window that overlooked the grounds.
She snapped at the students remaining in the room, reminding us we had less than ten minutes to make it to class.
It only took three minutes to walk to the history classroom, and I was too hungry to skip breakfast.
As Vanya entered the room, several people turned to look at her, and a pair of boys, upperclassmen, stood up from their table, motioning to the princess for her to sit.
She smiled and batted her eyelashes at them, accepting their table with a gracious curtsy.
They bowed to her in return. I shook my head slightly as I dropped into a seat opposite her.
Just then, I sensed a shift in the postures and tone of conversation in the room.
When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw Covington strolling casually toward the food, his hair half standing up on his head as he tried to tame it with his fingers.
His shirt was still untucked, and he looked like he hadn’t slept at all.
He moved lazily to the couch, where the people who were seated there scooted so he would have plenty of room to sit.
He, too, was somebody who moved the world around him as if he were a moon and everyone else was simply part of the tide.
Scarlett waltzed by our table, headed for class, a ribbon in her hair and a smug look on her face. She paused beside me. “Did you know, Arvi, that dragons can sense a person’s worth? They can smell bloodlines, and they have been bred to trust only the right families.”
“It’s a wonder you’ve ever been on one, then,” I snapped back, shocked at how quickly the words fell from my mouth.
Scarlett let out a small scoff.
“And it’s Ari,” I added while she recovered.
“You know what they’re saying about you, don’t you?” She squared her shoulders toward me and planted one hand on her hip. “That you’re not really Fairfax’s niece.” My stomach dropped to the floor. “That you’re really his daughter, with a bottomdweller.”
Vanya’s jaw went slack as Scarlett whirled around and marched away, slipping into the hall.
I gaped after her.
“Don’t listen to her,” Vanya said, downing the rest of her tea and sliding from her seat. “Now let’s go, or we will be late.”
It was easy enough to ignore Scarlett when she was just being mean, but her words about my birth, about the rumor that I was half-bottomsider, struck a little too close to home.
As classes ticked by, the sideways glances and concealed whispers from the other students proved Scarlett’s words were true.
But no one came to throw me out, and, if anything, the rumor that I was part bottomsider made the other students even less likely to talk to me.
Less likely to question my heritage, too, now that they thought they had it figured out, which could be the best kind of cover.
By the time chemistry arrived, the whispers were growing a little less subtle, and I yearned to head to the lair where the dragons would distract everyone, including me.
Professor Logan, in the midst of writing a formula for mixing up a drinkable wintercress solution on the board, paused and turned to the class, chalk in hand.
“Okay, you might think I can’t hear you,” he said, his eyes scanning the class, “but I can. And while gossip might be more exciting than the formula for herbal pain reduction concoctions, if you miss this”—he tapped the board with his chalk—“and administer the wrong dose to someone, you could kill them. So, I suggest you pay attention.” After that, the murmurings died down, and I offered Logan a subtle, thankful nod on the way out of his classroom.
Finally, it was time for our second lesson in the lair.
I waited as the rest of the houses assembled beside me in the round room, called the rotunda.
The sun shone brightly, a column of pure gold stabbing through the darkness of the lair.
Bryce’s dragon, Baxillian, was nowhere to be seen this afternoon, and our lairmaster stood alone in the center, hands clasped at his waist as he waited for all of the first years to arrive.
Covington was the last to mosey up and take his place along the wall, which happened to be right beside me, since everyone else, save Vanya, had given me a wide berth.
Bryce called us all to attention with his first booming words of our lesson, which was going to be on the life cycle of a Cevnal dragon, starting with the egg. A few faces slumped toward the ground, and a handful of students leaned back against the wall.
“Now that you know all there is to know about Cevnal eggs and their proper care,” Bryce said a half hour later, stabbing a few fidgeting students with a glare, “we can proceed to the part of our lesson I think you’ll find more interesting.
” A few people straightened; a few throats were cleared.
“Today we will discuss the ceremony when the school formally welcomes your dragons.” He rubbed his hands together in front of his chest.
“Ceremony?” I mouthed at Vanya.
“Every year, when the first years’ dragons arrive, the entire school assembles, and you will mount your dragon for the first official time as a rider of Cardan Lott,” Bryce continued.
My attention snapped to Covington beside me.
If he recognized my dragon, all hope was lost. And Bryce’s words about mounting my dragon added extra weight to the sinking feeling inside me.
The saddlemaker had been working on Myth’s saddle the entire week I’d spent with my dragon in West Haven, and I had yet to ever properly mount a dragon.
“At the end of the week,” Bryce went on, “your dragons will arrive. Then your training will begin in earnest next week. But first, I will show you where your dragons will be kept.”
Professor Bryce showed us where the dragons were fed and where the dragons were groomed, each massive room constructed with vaulted ceilings and enough space for several of the beasts to line up along the wall and stretch their wings without touching one another.
The architecture of this place was astounding, and I found myself staring up so much that my neck had a crick in it by the time we left.
It was mesmerizing, but as soon as we stepped out of the lair, my heart sank again as I caught sight of a dragon flying back to the lair.
If the duke’s son recognized Myth as a wild dragon, my dreams would be cut short.