Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
B riony
“Oh my stars!” Fly whisper-shrieks beside me, because Madame Bardin and two other teachers are now strolling our way and the line of students have dropped their voices.
“What?” I say, distracted as I watch the teachers. Apart from Madame Bardin, who is slim, elegant and wearing heeled boots despite the rough ground, the other two teachers are the size of small houses, stacked with muscle that seem determined to break free from their clothing. They are also identical in every way, from their shorn heads and beady brown eyes, to their solid shoulders and square jaws – jaws that could crack even the hardest of nuts.
“ What ?!” Fly scoffs in disbelief. “You just got picked as their thrall.”
If I hoped to ask my new friend what the hell a thrall is or who they are, I’m not given the chance, because one of the bulldozer twins blows violently on a whistle clutched in his over-sized hand.
“Silence,” his brother roars, “and stand the fuck to attention. This isn’t some holiday camp, you suckers, this is Firestone Academy and there will be no talking, slouching or ill-discipline on our watch. Now keep your mouths shut and take your seats in the Hall.”
Madame Bardin steps forward, wobbling slightly in her heels and drawing her black cape around her body. She walks towards the entrance of the Great Hall and the line of students snakes behind her inside – no one daring to utter a word under the beady gaze of the two male bulldozers.
Inside is even more magnificent than the outside. High stone-vaulted ceilings taller than trees, magnificently carved pillars, marble tiles on the floor and grand chandeliers hanging far above our heads.
“Wow,” I mumble.
“They say the academy was built on the site of the first discovered firestones and that this Hall was built by the early shadow weavers back when the realm was created,” Fly says, head tipped right back as he stares up at the colorful stained-glass window dominating the far wall of the Hall. “Built with magic.”
His words make me shiver because it does seem far too beautiful to have been built by the hands of men.
It seems like it should belong inside a castle, not a school. Except instead of elegant thrones or great banqueting tables, rows of benches have been placed along its width facing a raised stage at the far end, the huge circular window framed behind, the colored panes forming an image of the Firestone crest – the academy motto written in the old language beneath: Through trials to truth.
On the center of the platform stands Madame Bardin. She waits until the line of students has shuffled along the rows of benches and then she speaks.
“Welcome all of you to the Firestone Academy. We have already begun to test you and this testing will not end until you complete your twelve months at the academy. Your time here will determine your futures. Be mindful, we will be watching you.” She glares at us as if to emphasize her point. “Even when you think you aren’t being assessed, you are.” She pauses, allowing that information to sink in. “However, as you will all be aware, what counts most at this academy is your performance at the trials we set you.” I can’t help but swallow. The academy trials are notorious. That one last night was mild compared to others I’ve heard about. Heck, I’ve seen what those trials can do to you. Every year, one or two return to Slate Quarter with their face scarred, their arm maimed, a leg missing. “Ultimately,” Madame says, “it is your performance during the trials which will determine to which Quarter you are sent after your time at this academy ends. The first trial is now complete and points have been awarded accordingly. Remember, points will determine to which Quarter you are assigned and thereby your destiny. The next trial will take place in three weeks’ time.”
This statement causes much murmuring among the students, despite the death stares from the troll-like twins.
“It’s so unfair,” I mutter under my breath to Fly, “us kids from Slate don’t stand a chance.”
“Having said that,” Madame continues, “we know some students have had a head start over others,” I peer towards the front row where for once the shadow weavers are listening intently, “some among you may have untapped potential and skills. Potential and skills that have not been given the correct environment to blossom. The academy also provides the opportunity to learn, to be taught, to hone your skills. Use this opportunity wisely.”
My heart sinks. Learning – that was the bit Amelia was most excited about. She’d whisper to me as we fell asleep at night-time about all the things she was going to be taught. She’d promised she’d make it out of Slate Quarter. She promised she’d take me with her.
Once upon a time, I was as optimistic as she was. Once upon a time, I believed in a different future. Now I know better.
“There will be no lessons or assessments today. You have the rest of your time to acquaint yourselves with your surroundings. Classes will begin tomorrow.” A few students rise to their feet, clearly believing that’s it. Madame Bardin glares at them. “If you’d be gracious enough to honor me with just one more moment of your time,” she says with a sinister smile that has all those students dropping back to the benches as quickly as they can. “You all have a copy of the rules of the academy. Short and simple. However, there are a few more things you should be aware of. Those caught skipping classes will be punished. Those late for lessons will be punished. Those who forget the necessary equipment for lessons will be punished. And anyone caught cheating in any way will be severely punished.” She smiles a second time, only this time it’s a lot more genuine. I know her type and I suspect she likes the punishing a lot more than she does the teaching.
“And if you have any problems, any complaints, any difficulties,” she smiles around the Hall, “do not bother me with them. Dismissed!”
Fly leans towards me. “I don’t know about you, Cupcake, but I’m starving. I’m heading straight for the canteen. Unless you have some better idea?”
I laugh. “Can we please find some lunch? I may actually pass out if not and I don’t want a bump on my head to add to the collection of injuries.”
“Sure,” he says, hooking his arm through mine and leading me in the direction of the canteen. It’s in a squat, old-looking building towards the back of the campus. One that obviously hasn’t been decorated or cleaned in half a century. Paint peels from the walls and grime is smeared across the windows.
“I warn you now,” Fly says, “I’ve been told that the cuisine here is far from the best the realm has to offer.” He crinkles his nose in obvious disgust. “Jeez, it smells like something died in here.”
I have to disagree. The smells are many and tantalizing – sweet and savory, vegetable and meat, wet and dry – all sloshing together through the air and swimming towards my nose. In front of us, laid out across two tables, is more food than I’ve seen in my lifetime. Sure, it’s basic – sausages, boiled root vegetables, hard looking rolls and some sort of sloppy stew – and has to stretch to feed several hundred of us, but it’s still a feast.
I grab a plate and pile it high.
Fly follows along behind me, complaining that the vegetables are overcooked and the sausages are full of more gristle than actual meat. I don’t care. I am in food heaven. What’s more, someone else made this for me and someone else will be clearing it all away.
I thought the academy was meant to be a place of hardship. It seems like it might be anything but.
“Slow down there, Cupcake,” Fly mutters. “You eat all that, you will definitely make yourself sick.”
“I don’t care,” I say, as we carry our plates over to an empty table. “I’m so hungry, you could serve me pig’s eyes and lizard innards and I’d wolf them down.”
“Well, you could do with eating,” he says, poking at a limp-looking vegetable with his fork.
“What’s that meant to mean?” I ask, stuffing half a sausage into my mouth.
“No offense, sweetie, but you’re a little on the skinny side.”
“You can talk,” I say, jabbing my knife in his direction.
“I’m lean,” he says. “There’s a difference.”
“There is?” I say chewing.
“Yeah.” He jabs his own fork towards my clavicle. “No one wants to see that much bone.”
“Jeez, thanks,” I say, adjusting the collar of my shirt and darting my gaze around to see if anyone else is staring at my bones. It’s then I realize several are in fact staring right at me, although they all dart their gazes away as soon as I catch them at it.
Bizarre. I shake my head and return my attention to my food.
When we’re done, Fly smothers a yawn with his hand.
“Orienteering myself can wait. I’m heading straight back to my room and into bed. You coming?” My eyebrows shoot involuntarily up my forehead. Fly quirks one of his own. “Just to be clear, that wasn’t an offer. I mean, back to our rooms.”
“In a bit,” I tell him. “I think I’m going to have a snoop around first.”
“Suit yourself,” he says as we shuffle out of the canteen and then out into the dim daylight. “Come call on me for breakfast tomorrow, okay?”
“You don’t want me to wake you for dinner?”
He shakes his head and I wave him off, then pull my map from my blazer pocket. Is it my imagination or are people out here staring at me too? I’m good at disappearing into the background and it is brutally unsettling. I pick up my feet and walk along the pathways until I find a quieter spot, then I study the map again.
Nyneve Tower.
I’ve never forgotten the name. It’s been seared into my memory like every other detail.
I find it marked out on the opposite side of the campus from my own tower. Peering skywards at the surrounding towers, I catch my bearings and set off along the weaving pathways. I pass other students as I walk and am not immune to the funny looks they give me or the whispered comments. At one point I actually stop and examine my reflection in a low window, checking my skirt isn’t tucked into my panties or I have dirt all over my face. The black eye does look pretty awful. Maybe that’s the cause of all the sudden interest. Back in Slate Quarter, I’m ignored and I am one hundred percent happy with that situation.
Finally, I reach the base of the tower. I can already tell from its lack of crumbling walls and roof made from actual tiles that it’s a hell of a lot nicer than the tower I’ve been assigned. Which must mean she made it to the academy ahead of a lot more students than I did.
A little pride has my mouth curling into a smile. I’m not surprised. Amelia was brave, determined and clever. She would have found a way.
The smile fades as I think of her, the sadness creeping in instead. I push against the door before the grief grounds me in one place altogether.
In the entrance way there is a group of girls, dressed in their gray uniforms, chatting together. Their eyes swivel my way and I am tempted to turn around and march right out.
“Can we help you?” a girl with thick brown hair arranged in waves about her shoulders asks me. She’s no shadow weaver, but she still manages to make the uniform look a lot better than mine, plus, rather than cuts and bruises, she’s wearing actual make-up on her face.
“I’m just heading to my room,” I say, lowering my head and hoping to pass by without any trouble.
I just want a glimpse – just one little glance at her room. I’m sure it won’t tell me anything. I know she is long gone. But nonetheless, I possess this insatiable urge to see it.
“Urgh,” the brunette says, “I think you must be mistaken.” I let that passive look overcome my face, one I hope disguises how keen I am to get up those stairs. “Slate, right?”
Even though I know I’d be better off with my eyes downcast and looking bored, even though I understand it would give me more chances of having this girl leave me alone, I can’t help myself. I lift my chin with just a smidgen of defiance.
“I mean, you’d have to be, wouldn’t you?” Her lip curls in disgust. “Look at your face. Did you walk into a wall or a shadow weaver’s fist?” She titters and all the girls behind her do the same.
I notice there isn’t a scratch on her – at least I don’t think so. Maybe the layers of make-up are hiding her own injuries from last night.
“What’s wrong? Did they rip out your tongue too, sweetie?”
“No,” I say. “I have my tongue.” I go to move past her. She clearly has the appetite to toy with me and I do not have the patience. I want to see that room.
I made a promise – to her, to myself. I intend to keep it and I intend to start right now.
“But obviously not a brain,” she says, blocking my path. “You have the wrong tower. No Slate scum here.”
“My room is just up–”
“I don’t know what you think you’re going to do, Slate scum. Steal our belongings, creep through our rooms? I don’t think so,” she says, taking a menacing step towards me, the girls behind her moving too. The brunette is about an inch taller than me and much curvier. I could probably outrun her, but in a fight, she’d probably win. “Beat it!”
I glower at her, knowing at this moment I’m beat. I’ll have to come another time.
“Wait,” one of the other girls says, just as I’m about to turn around and make my exit. “Isn’t she the girl the Princes chose?”
“Her?” the brunette sneers. “I don’t think so. Are you looking at her properly?”
“No, Odessa, I’m sure it’s her.”
Something flashes across the brunette’s face. Something I don’t like the look of, and though I don’t know what the hell they are talking about, I decide I am better off leaving before I find out.
Back in my room, I tug the blanket out from the bottom of my wardrobe, pulling my bag onto my lap. I close my eyes. I will find answers. I owe it to her. I owe it to her to find the truth.
I reach inside my bag and check it’s still there.