Chapter 10
Ten
Ivy
Ididn’t realize how much I appreciated having a friend to sit with in the dining hall until that friend was gone.
Granted, Esmae was only pretending her friendliness. She murdered Julita and tried to do the same to me.
But she was good company before all that came to light.
Gripping the breakfast plate I’ve picked up from one of the room’s many counters, I scan the tables. The first familiar face I spot is Anya’s.
My former nemesis has her blond hair piled on top of her head in her preferred style and a sharp smile curving her lips.
I disarmed her by pretending to be her friend shortly before my confrontation with Wendos in the All-Giver’s tower, but I have no desire to cozy up to the bully beyond that.
I’m just glad my gambit worked well enough that she hasn’t resumed her harassment.
A few tables over, there’s Romild, who probably thinks even less of me now than she did when she insinuated that I’d fucked my way into the assistant position.
It’s become clear that Wendos used her as a diversion to lead my investigations astray and that she isn’t actually involved in any illicit sorcery, but it’s been equally clear that she’d sooner spit in my face than have a genial conversation with me.
My gaze snags for a moment on a tawny head I’ve come to know well. Casimir is seated with his back mostly to me, but there are only a few other students sitting at his table.
It wouldn’t look that odd for me to grab a chair at the other end, would it? I don’t even have to talk to him—simply being in his presence would make me feel less alone.
But just as I start to take a step toward him, a noblewoman with ebony ringlets sashays to his side and rests her hand on his shoulder as she leans in to speak. It’s the woman I saw him dancing with at the ball.
He told me he uses the balls to let possible patrons “sample” his skills as a courtesan. Is she looking to hire him now?
My stomach twists, and I yank my gaze away.
It’s his job. I’ve got no right to feel queasy over him embracing his calling.
I don’t really want to witness a transaction in progress, though. It’s safer for him if I keep my distance anyway.
Really, it was selfish of me to consider going over there when I could be putting him in danger.
That thought helps me focus on my larger mission. Are there any bug club members around I could contrive to sit near?
I don’t want to be blatant about seeking them out, but even being able to listen in while they talk with other students might reveal something useful.
I meander between the tables, casting my gaze about as if I’m looking for an ideal seat.
While I can fake the airs of a noblewoman reasonably well, I’ve always stuck out a little among this upper crust crowd. No one meets my eyes other than once, briefly, followed by a disdainful curl of a lip.
I’ve only made it past a few tables when a clear, even voice speaks up from behind me. “Ivy, isn’t it? You could join me over here.”
I swivel to find distantly-royal Petra aiming a subdued smile at me. She motions to a few empty chairs at a nearby table.
My legs lock, just for a second. I don’t have any reason to believe that the queen’s niece-twice-removed—or whatever exactly she is—would see me as an ideal dining companion.
What’s she really up to?
Will it be more of a mistake to accept her invitation or to refuse her?
Go on, Julita murmurs. Let’s find out what she wants. It’s not as if you couldn’t take her in a fight.
I restrain a snort at that sentiment and make myself return Petra’s smile. “Thank you. I’ll do that.”
As we walk to the chairs and take our places, I surreptitiously study the other woman.
Julita is probably right in her assessment of our fighting capabilities. Petra has a few inches on my short frame, but her arms look soft in contrast with my wiry muscle. Her figure is more curvy than combat-hardened.
I have to assume she drops in on Stavros’s classes to try to develop skills she’s lacking rather than to hone an established talent. I definitely haven’t seen any impressive moves from her during sparring sessions.
She is a little hard to pin down, though.
Her dress is fine, with delicate embroidery across the bodice and down the skirt—eye-catching but not entirely fitting the typical styles around the college.
She must have enough interest in fashion to appreciate impressive work without caring whether anyone else is impressed by the same.
Like the other times I’ve seen her, she’s let her black hair spill loose over her shoulders, only a small portion braided back from her tan brow. I’ve looped my own hair into an updo so I can fit in with most of my schoolmates, but apparently Petra doesn’t care about that either.
I guess when you’re related to the royal family, even if only by marriage, you’re a little above those concerns. She does always seem to keep a subtle distance from the other students.
But not with me, not right now.
I glance around to confirm no one I’m keeping an eye on from the bug club is nearby. The kinds of things I’d want them to overhear and the kinds of things I’d be comfortable saying directly to Petra have very little overlap.
As I lift my fork, my nerves buzz with apprehension. Thankfully, Petra speaks before I have to decide how to start a conversation with her.
She flicks her hand in a graceful motion toward the room at large. “You’ve only been at Sovereign College for a few weeks, haven’t you?”
I nod and stick to my standard cover story. “I only meant to come for a visit, but I ended up meeting Ster. Stavros at just the right time and found myself with a job.”
“I’ve seen that not everyone has been all that welcoming, but hopefully you haven’t regretted staying.”
I can’t suppress a laugh. She has no idea how much I have to regret.
But I can still truthfully say, “No, I like having the chance to accomplish more than I could back home.”
Petra gives a light laugh in return and tears the crescent roll on her plate in two. She has to hold it carefully in her right hand, where her little and ring finger are both missing—her dedication sacrifice, I assume.
Giving part of her dominant hand would have earned her a greater gift. I don’t sense her working any magic on me now, but some divine talents are more passive while still useful.
“You’ve found a few things to like, then,” she says. “Ster. Stavros hasn’t been too difficult an employer?”
Oh, that’s a topic and a half. I turn my answer over in my mind, deciding on the best way to word it. Last night’s tense conversation stands out starkly in my memory.
“He has high standards,” I say. “And he demands a certain amount of deference. But he isn’t unreasonable. I don’t mind having to work hard if the situation is fair.”
I wouldn’t say he’s been all that fair to you lately, Julita puts in.
Petra tips her head thoughtfully as she chews. “I haven’t attended many of his classes, but he does seem to have a good balance between being supportive and firm.”
A little of my own curiosity bubbles up. “You’re in the leadership division, aren’t you? Why have you joined any of the military classes?”
The corner of Petra’s mouth kicks upward in a crooked smile that looks a little odd on her otherwise dignified face.
“My parents have always maintained that it’s important for us all to be able to defend ourselves and what we care about if need be.
You never know when you might end up under threat with no one with more expertise to call on for help.
And everyone says Ster. Stavros is the best to learn from. ”
The smile gives her a more youthful appearance than before. I assumed she was late in her schooling, a couple of years older than me, but suddenly I’m not so sure.
“How long have you been taking classes here?” I find myself asking.
“A little over a year now,” she says, which means if she started at the college at eighteen like most nobles do, she won’t be more than nineteen now.
I’m actually her senior, though not by much.
“Also, I honestly enjoy the physical exertion of the sparring. Haven’t you found activities here that you enjoy even though they’re not part of your official focus? ”
I shrug. “Of course. I appreciate the chance to go riding when I get it. And there are a lot more books in the library than I had access to at home—I’m certainly not reading about warfare all day long. But having fists thrown at you isn’t most people’s idea of a good time.”
“I suppose not.” Petra keeps smiling at me, though I still get the sense she’s studying me as much as I am her. “But it’s appeared that you’re not all that concerned about being like ‘most people’ either. That’s one of the reasons I thought it might be nice to talk.”
One of the reasons. Gods only know what the others are.
Julita hums as if in agreement. There’s definitely more to this overture than she’s letting on.
“Well, thank you,” I say awkwardly, not sure how else to answer her.
We eat in silence for a few minutes while I wonder if I’m giving away something uncouth in my gestures or expressions. What does she believe she’s learned about me so far?
Does she think I might be acting against her family? What will she do if she decides I am?
Petra pops one last piece of roll into her mouth and leans back in her chair as she swallows. “You became friendly with Esmae very quickly. It must be difficult, her leaving so abruptly.”
It sounds like an off-hand remark, but I have to stop my spine from stiffening. Stavros told me that the king decided to put out an official story that Esmae returned home rather than reveal her death and all the complicated circumstances around it.
After a week or two without her turning up, people will start to assume she was waylaid on her journey and murdered. I’m not sure if her family will find that more comforting than the idea that she’d become a murderer herself, but it’s not up to me anyway.
Good riddance, Julita mutters.
As much as I can’t regret my act of self-defense, a lump rises in my throat with the memories of the meals I shared here with Esmae when I thought we were friends.
It’s a particularly uncomfortable sort of loss, missing a person while also feeling ashamed that they managed to deceive you so thoroughly.
My smile probably looks a bit rigid, but surely I’m allowed to show a little of my emotions even if I’m pretending it’s a less permanent loss. “It seems as though people come and go pretty often here. But it has been a bit lonely without her.”
And with most of the men I’d counted on before eyeing me with varying degrees of suspicion.
Petra gives my hand a light pat. “You should join us for another hunt sometime. That’ll give you an excuse to ride.”
She gets up to carry her plate to the counter. I chew the last of my bacon, but my stomach stays clenched tight.
She definitely had some other agenda. Now I’ve got to make sure I’m playing this game right to keep out of trouble with her too.
If Esmae taught me anything, it’s that I can’t underestimate just how much damage one student might do.
As I drop off my own plate, I notice Casimir and the ringleted woman heading out. When I reach the doorway, they’re ambling toward the main staircase, her hand grazing his shoulder while she lets out a bell-like laugh.
Julita stirs in the back of my head. The patrons don’t matter all that much to him, Ivy.
Maybe that’s true, but it doesn’t mean I want to watch them canoodling the whole way up to my room.
I veer in the other direction and just keep walking—past the games rooms and other leisure venues I haven’t investigated, all the way around to the narrow hall at the back of the Domi’s first floor.
The sight of the stone columns along the walls makes my lungs constrict. It was farther down this hallway, at the other end near the row of tapestries, where Esmae stabbed a knife into my back.
I stride on into the dank, cramped stairwell barely anyone bothers to use back here. No need to worry about running into prying eyes on my way to the fourth floor.
I emerge amid the staff quarters a few minutes’ walk from Stavros’s rooms. A couple of other teaching assistants are just wandering around the corner ahead of me.
Ducking my head and itching for the anonymity of my cloak, I meander slowly after them so I won’t catch up and have to navigate either sneers or awkward small talk.
My gaze slides along the rug that runs the length of the hall—and snags on a small, gray-furred body that’s just wiggling out of a crack between the stones at the base of the wall.
A rat. It freezes against the wall, maybe noting my presence.
There’s nothing so strange about a creature like that scurrying through a building like this. Even nobles have to fend off vermin from time to time, especially when there’s food around.
But as I come up on the animal, a quiver of magic jitters through my nerves.
It’s not just a rat. Someone’s used their gift on it, somehow or other.
And then left it to sneak around on the staff floor. I can’t think of many good reasons to do that.
In my hesitation, the creature darts forward along the wall. I don’t think, just leap after it.
My fingers snatch at the rat’s tail, firm enough to stop it in its tracks.
I expected it to squeal or freeze in terror. Instead, it whips around with its teeth bared to chomp at my thumb.
“Shit,” I hiss, smacking the rat’s head away with my other hand.
It only flails more wildly, its jaws and tiny claws raking at every bit of my flesh it thinks it might be able to reach. I fumble to try to get a grip on it that would restrain its body, and it sinks its teeth into the base of my palm.
My hand jerks instinctively, slamming the rodent into the wall. It hits the plaster surface headfirst with a crunch of its skull.
Before I can even curse that I couldn’t capture it alive, the creature’s limp form turns hard and heavier in my grasp. I’m so startled by the sudden change that I drop it.
The thing that was once a living rat hits the floor and cracks into a few jagged pieces. Jagged pieces of what looks like fired clay.
What in the world is that? Julita demands.
I don’t know. Totally bewildered, I hunch down to take a careful look.
The chunks of clay would form a sculpture of a rat if I nudged them back together. Fine lines of fur are even carved into the reddish-brown surface.
But it had actual fur when I grabbed it. It felt like a real rat—it moved like one.
It bit like one, as the blood dribbling over my hand can attest.
A chill seeps through my body. Something is very wrong here, and I’ve never seen anything like it.