Chapter 21
Twenty-One
“Verily? Verily, wake up!”
A rude shove follows the urgent whisper, and I groan, swatting at the offender before burying my face into the most luxurious pillow I’ve ever had the privilege to rest my head on.
Until that same pillow is yanked from underneath me and used as a hammer. “You’re going to be late!”
I yelp when it comes down at my head again and roll out of its trajectory in time to see the flash of Callie’s white hair. “Callie! What in Lux’s sun are you—”
“Classes start in ten minutes!” she cries. “You’ve already missed breakfast in the dining hall!”
I throw off the covers. “What?”
Because of my scramble out of bed, I nearly trip over the tangled sheets. My first day at the Resonance Academy, and I’m on the verge of execution before I even start.
“Why didn’t anyone wake me sooner?” I ask.
“I tried, but you sleep like the dead. And I felt bad. You were just imprisoned for a month. Here, your uniform.” Callie tosses me a bundle of clothes.
I unfurl the garments with nervous, twitchy fingers.
The fabric is finer than anything I’ve ever touched, a sleek black tunic with no markings or embellishments other than small onyx buttons down the center.
The matching trousers are just as plain, but slim and tailored, a far cry from the loose, patched breeches and homespun dresses I’m used to.
I hastily pull them on, marveling at the way they fit like a second skin.
Callie then hands me a leather corset to tie over my shirt, not to nip in my waist, but to protect my chest.
A form of training armor during class. How pleasant.
“You were imprisoned, too, and for much longer than me,” I counter, pausing long enough to allow Callie to tie the laces of the corset at my back.
She’s dressed in a fitted uniform much like mine, except hers is the color of slate, a silky gray with a matching corset.
She also wears a cloak in a lighter gray, fastened at one shoulder with a silver clasp.
“What does all this mean?” I ask, gesturing to her clothing, then mine.
Callie shrugs, avoiding my gaze as she finishes my laces, then busies herself digging through a trunk at the foot of my bed.
“They’re just colors of our years of study.
I was an adept, a second year, before I was sentenced to the catacombs.
Even though I’m not officially reinstated, wearing it while I face the Order of Keepers seems like the respectable thing to do. ”
She emerges with a pair of gleaming black boots and a cloak that flows like liquid obsidian, but only has ties compared to her silver clasp. “Here, put these on. I’ll do your hair.”
I nod mutely, jamming my feet into the boots. They’re snug but not uncomfortable, molding to my calves like they were made for me. Which, I suppose, they were. Perks of the academy’s unregulated use of soul-magick.
As I fasten the cloak around my neck, Callie attacks my hair with a brush, her strokes quick but gentle. She deftly weaves the blond strands into a simple but elegant bun, pinning it in place with simple metal pins.
“There, that should do.” Callie steps back to admire her handiwork. “You look the part.”
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and pause. I’ve never looked so fancy. The severe hairstyle accentuates the sharp angles of my face, which I acquired from being underfed in the catacombs, making me look older and fiercer. Like I belong here.
I smooth my hands down my front, trying to calm the butterflies rioting in my stomach. “I feel anything but. What if I make a fool of myself? Or worse, what if I hurt someone?”
Callie spins me to face her. “That is exactly what the academy is. Brutal. Perilous. Unforgiving. You’re not punished if you harm someone else.
You’re rewarded if you weed out the vulnerable and dispose of them.
My advice is, don’t hold back. If you have talent, you show it.
If you’re strong, you prove it. Whatever you do, don’t sit back and hope that you won’t be noticed. Okay?”
Callie holds my attention so thoroughly, I don’t blink. The journey to the academy was perilous in itself, and that was with an Elite by my side. Without Falcen or Callie to help guide me today, I’m a hen about to wander into a foxhole.
Attending the Resonance Academy is better than being shoved back into the catacombs, I remind myself.
And I do indeed possess the innate soul-sucking ability that everyone else here has. Granted, they have at least fifteen summers on me in terms of experience, but I’ve entered the Void. I’ve ridden a nether drake. I’ve pissed off an Elite on multiple occasions and survived. I can do this.
“Okay?” Callie prompts.
I nod.
Callie gives me a tight smile. “Good. Now, as for getting to your first class...”
She launches into a dizzying set of directions, pointing out the window at various spires and walkways of the sprawling academy complex.
“You’ll want to head down the main staircase and take a left at the east corridor. There, you’ll walk through the Grand Hall, which used to be the throne room when this was the royal palace.”
My breath catches. The palace. The seat of the monarchy my village prayed to, whose distant rule we trusted to keep us safe.
“Queen Mariette’s statue is still there,” Callie continues. “Toppled in the center of the hall, right where she fell when the First Soulren stormed the castle thirty years ago. They never moved it. Every student walks past it on their way to class.”
My forehead tightens as I follow Callie’s line of sight through the window. I think of the prayers my mother used to whisper, the hope she placed in a broken crown.
“Along both sides of the hall are alcoves with statues of the First Soulren. Half of them look like they’re screaming, the other half look like they’re feeding. The academy wants you to see what you’re becoming.”
My throat constricts. “And here I thought the catacombs’ decor was bad.”
“The First Soulren saved the realm from being overrun by Voidspawn. Everything we have now exists because of what they sacrificed.”
I make a humming sound as if I know what she’s talking about, while simultaneously trying to understand how committing mass murder and cursing future generations of children with the same Void-stolen power was a good thing.
“From there, take the second doorway on your left. Or maybe it’s the third on your right? One of those will lead you to the Hall of Theorems. Essence Theory is held in the classroom of the last door at the end of the hall.”
My head spins, trying to keep track of all the twists and turns.
“Right. I think I’ve got it,” I lie.
Callie gives me a skeptical arch of her brow but nods.
“If you get lost, just ask one of the other students. Most of them are ... well, they’re not exactly friendly, but they’ll point you in the right direction.
Eventually. But watch for the third years, the Renders.
They’re the ones dressed in scarlet uniforms and congregate near the Grand Hall between sessions.
If they’re bored, they’ll test you. Just to see if you’re worth the trouble. ”
“That’s reassuring,” I mutter under my breath.
With one last glance in the mirror to make sure I look presentable, I gather my courage as well as the black canvas pack Callie shoves into my arms.
“I packed you some papers, quills, an inkwell plus a spare, and a waterskin. Stay hydrated. Seriously.”
“Wow,” I say as I accept the bag. “You didn’t have to do all this for me. You have enough to worry about.”
Callie shrugs it off, though I notice the pull at one corner of her mouth. “It helps to be distracted. It’s been so long since I’ve been out of the catacombs that I couldn’t sleep very well.”
“Oh, Callie.” I drop the pack so I can reach for her hand. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can—”
“Go!” She sends a panicked look at the clock above my door. “Tardiness isn’t tolerated. You’d better be a good sprinter.”
Cursing, I lift the pack onto my shoulder.
“Thank you,” I say earnestly, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “I mean it. For everything.”
Callie’s eyes widen in surprise at the contact, but she doesn’t pull away. “Just ... be careful.”
I nod and rush out the door, my cloak billowing behind me as I race down the corridors. The academy is a maze of curved passageways and soaring Gothic arches, every surface seeming to hum with soul-magick.
I follow Callie’s directions as best I can, my heart in my throat as I take turn after dizzying turn. I pass a few other students, and those who notice eye me with a dose of curiosity and disdain. The anomaly. The late bloomer. The remnant. I keep my head high and quicken my pace.
I’m so focused on trying to remember the route that I don’t notice the figure looming at the top of the second set of stairs until I nearly collide with him. I skid to a halt, my heart shooting down to my toes as I look up into the piercing, blue-gold eyes of Falcen Reaves.
He regards me coolly, his gaze flicking over my academy uniform before settling on my face. “You’re late.”
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “I overslept.” Though I can’t help adding, “A side effect to being jailed, I think.”
Falcen’s nostrils flare at my words. “I trust you won’t make a habit of it. Insubordination is punished here.”
“I didn’t exactly receive a welcome packet with my class schedule,” I retort, hating how breathless I sound.
Being this close to him, feeling the heat and arrogance emanating from his body is ... distracting.
His eyes narrow. “Watch your tone, Initiate. Here, you are the lowest of the low. You’d do well to remember that.”
I bristle. “How could I forget? You’ve made it abundantly clear what you think of me.”
Falcen takes a step closer, crowding into my space until I’m forced to tilt my head back. “And what, exactly, do you think I think of you?”