CHAPTER 4
Never in my life had I felt so unwelcome.
After listening to Chancellor Grimshaw pump up the students for another hour, the first years had been dismissed to tour the extensive grounds.
A pretty red-haired professor named Felicity Birch led our group, a little gray-and-red bird familiar flitting about her shoulders.
But her cheerful-sounding name didn’t match her current mood.
Minutes into the tour, it became uncomfortably clear that I was the cause of the professor’s sour attitude.
Every time she mentioned a fact about the school, she alluded back to its purpose for existing in the first place.
“We never needed an elite academy like this in the past. If the elders hadn’t failed us so disgracefully, we wouldn’t be forming a new council at all.”
“This school represents a fresh start. After what happened ten years ago, the community is done with elders. A council body made up of individuals who earned their positions is the change we desperately need.”
“Heartstone wasn’t designed for the weak. If you don’t have what it takes to survive all four years, then you should leave now. The longer you waste our time, the more disgrace your failure will heap on your family and coven. Only the greatest witches and warlocks are meant to lead our community.”
“Just because you were admitted to this school doesn’t mean you’re worthy of a spot on the Conclave. You must prove yourself, a concept that should have been instilled decades—centuries—ago. We wouldn’t be having this discussion today if that had been the case.”
On and on, she not-so-subtly jabbed at my family name, making it obvious she didn’t think I belonged here.
The entire tour, the other first years either eyed me disdainfully or ignored me completely.
None of their faces were familiar, my years of magic training spent at home and not at an academy.
It was clear most of them already knew each other, though, whispering amongst themselves congenially.
One of them cast more glances at me than the rest, her sepia-colored eyes watching me intently. If it wasn’t for the long golden brown braid swinging from high on her head, I might not have realized who she was.
The Water Elemental who’d almost drowned me during the Initiation Trial.
When I met one of her glances with a “I know what you did” look, a wicked little smile curved her full lips.
Flipping her braid back, she slid through the crowd until she was even with me before murmuring in a lilting Spanish accent, “If I’d known who you were, sombra, I would have held you under a little bit longer. ”
Before I could respond—not that I even had a response—she slipped away and rejoined a small huddle of other first years. A hulking guy with dirty blond curls draped a muscled arm over her shoulders and, before I could look away, glanced back at me with a sneer.
Yeah, yeah, everyone here despised me. Message received loud and clear.
The tour lasted all afternoon, and the only downtime given was a quick two-minute bathroom break.
Professor Birch kept up a steady stream of monologue as she showed us every possible nook and cranny of the campus, inside and out.
It was bigger than I could have possibly imagined, a compound of several buildings strategically placed near each other with a large open courtyard in the center.
Despite the fact that we were deep into what I now knew were the Canadian Rockies, the mountainous terrain surrounding the campus was devoid of snow, probably with the help of another weather-controlling spell. It was cold, though, the wind, gloomy sky, and light drizzle making it colder still.
By the time we made it back inside, I was chilled to the bone and starving.
Lunch hadn’t been provided, and I was starting to think that we were in the midst of another trial where the last one standing was declared the winner.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours, so that wouldn’t be me.
Just when I worried that I was about to pass out for the second time in one day, Professor Birch announced that it was time for dinner.
“Make your way to the dining hall in an orderly fashion. It’s first come, first serve, so—”
The sudden rush of bodies drowned out the rest of her words, dozens of famished students scrambling to be the first in line.
I thought about slipping inside the bathroom to wash my hands, then thought better of it, too hungry to waste even a few seconds.
The throng shoved and jostled each other down the stairs and halls, all decorum vanishing as the need for sustenance overrode everything else.
I tried to jockey for position, but a sharp elbow to my shoulder sent me stumbling back.
As my bruised bone began to throb, I glanced up to see the hulking warlock with dirty blond hair leer back at me before plowing forward like a linebacker.
Realizing that fighting through this ravenous crowd would probably just earn me several more vindictive blows, I slowed, allowing the mass to thunder past.
By the time I reached the dining hall, hundreds of students were clambering for food at a huge buffet.
It was pure chaos, but no one tried to sort the teeming bodies into an orderly line.
Knowing that the only way I’d get anything to eat was by diving in, I straightened my spine and did just that.
After several attempts, I finally managed to secure a tray, but snagging even a single scrap of food proved to be impossible.
Minutes later, I had several more bruises and nothing to show for them but one small baked potato.
When no one came to refill the empty platters, I gave up with a quiet sigh and turned to find a seat at the packed tables.
I chose the first corner seat I saw, keeping my head down so I didn’t have to see any glares directed at me.
My hands noticeably shook as I cut open the potato, my blood sugar so low that I almost shoved the whole thing into my mouth.
Spotting a butter dish on the table, I forced myself to reach over, scrape off a piece, and carefully butter my potato.
I might be hungry, but I wasn’t an animal.
My fork was loaded and halfway to my mouth when I felt a presence at my back. I didn’t know how I could feel it with all the commotion around me, but the air suddenly felt thicker. Heavier. Like a humid summer night before a storm erupts.
“You’re in my seat,” a deep voice rumbled like distant thunder directly behind me.
I stiffened, knowing without looking that it was Thorne.
In an instant, a hush fell over the entire dining hall, everyone pausing what they were doing to take in the tense scene.
Try as I might, I couldn’t stop my heart from frantically pounding.
I lowered my fork to the tray, not wanting anyone to see that my hand no longer shook from hunger but from fear.
It had been stupid of me to choose this seat without scoping out the room first. A single glance down the long table made it embarrassingly clear that I’d sat somewhere not meant for me.
For one, there was a crisp white cloth covering the table, unlike the other ones.
For another, there were flowers, lit candles, and several condiments laid out in fancy silver dishes like the butter I’d just pilfered.
There were also stacked plates, silverware rolled into cloth napkins, and pitchers of ice water.
But, worst of all, there was a female server in a black and white uniform standing behind a nearby student. She glared at me with heavy disapproval, a heaping platter of chicken in her hands.
Realizing I’d made a huge mistake, every inch of me went cold. Worried that I was going to pass out again, I forced myself to keep breathing. My heart continued to race, faster and faster until I thought it would fly right out of my chest.
“First years don’t sit here,” a male voice said, but it wasn’t Thorne’s. It came from in front of me, not behind. I swung my gaze to the guy just as he pulled out the seat directly across from me and plopped down.
Based on the confidence oozing from him, I assumed he was a third year, one that had spent the past two years asserting his place on campus.
The upturned tilt of his dark eyes gave away his East Asian heritage, along with the warm tone of his light olive skin.
He wore his straight black hair longer on top and parted in the middle, his build like that of an Olympic swimmer.
The black-and-silver striped tie around his neck was loose, the first few buttons on his white shirt intentionally undone.
One of his hands was on the table, an ornate ring with a topaz gemstone adorning each finger.
So much for the “no personal items” rule applying to all students.
He was handsome and definitely knew it, but the irreverent smile fixed on his full lips was what made me peg him as an entitled rich boy.
His smile abruptly morphed into a full-blown grin, and he drawled, “You’ve got a little drool, Mayweather. Right here.” He lazily reached up to tap his chin, and I completely fell for it, lifting a hand before I could stop myself. When he belted out a laugh, I froze again, beyond mortified.
I’d thought nothing could top the insults hurled at me in the great hall, but this teasing—no, mocking—was so much worse.
Knowing that how I handled this hazing could further mark me as a weakling, I chose not to comment. I barely even blinked, my face expressionless as I watched the warlock get his rocks off at my expense. All the while, I was hyperaware of the fact that Thorne Hudson still stood directly behind me.
Waiting for me to vacate his seat.
When I was about to do just that with what little dignity I had left—okay, fine, my dignity was in shambles—Thorne spoke again.
“Riku.”
One word, but the quiet way he said it dripped with authority.