Nyssa halts beside me at the entrance archway, where runes pulse with faint blue light along the black stone.
“Protective magic,” she says, following my gaze. “It dampens the effect of spells cast within these walls.”
“I suppose it’s meant to stop students from accidentally killing each other,” I reply.
“Or intentionally.” Her lips quirk upward briefly.
The military uniform transforms her—silver buttons gleaming against a black tunic, leather pants tucked into polished boots. Gone is the graceful sprite I've come to know, replaced by this rigid soldier.
My identical uniform hugs my body with unexpected comfort. I expected it to be as strict and as suffocating as their doctrine.
“You’re nervous.” Nyssa makes another observation.
I make one of my own as I admire her hair pulled up into a tightbun at the top of her head, sparkling silver and sleek, not a strand out of place. “And you look like a ballpoint pen.”
“I don’t know what that is,” she replies, blinking with confusion.
“Never mind.” I exhale slowly. “Of course I'm nervous. I'm surrounded by enemies and forced to attend their war college.”
Why does that sound familiar?
“This invitation is an unprecedented?—”
“Honor no human has received before,” I finish, eyes rolling. “Spare me the recruitment speech.”
Nyssa bumps my shoulder with hers. “You'll survive this, Esme.”
“Right. I’ll fit right in.”
Nyssa's voice drops to a whisper. “While your presence here is unexpected and unorthodox, and while there are plenty of mixed feelings about it, I know you’ll do what you were meant to do.”
I give her a curious look. “Meant to do? What was I meant to… do?”
“I have no idea,” she replies with a casual shrug. “But fate brought you here for a reason, right?”
“No, your precious Lord Daynthazar brought me here. And your beloved king, Lord Bummer, won’t let me go.”
Nyssa gasps, her eyes wide with horror upon hearing my massacre of her ruler’s name. I almost feel bad for a hot second, until I remember where I am and why I’m here.
“Stick to my side,” she says, glancing ahead. “I’m your resident student advisor, and I am responsible for you.”
“Will do.”
Not.
“And for the love of all that is good and bright in this world, do not get me in trouble,” Nyssa feels the need to reiterate.
I can’t blame her. I absolutely plan to do something that will inevitably get her in trouble. In my defense, she’ll fall in the category of collateral damage, though I know I will do my best to not get her in too much trouble.
Dragons walk past us as Nyssa gives me the introductory tour ofthe institute. I catch their scowls, I hear their whispers. I certainly hear the hurled insults at my address, but when I turn my head to identify the source, they stick to their routes, not eager to get into a fracas—yet.
Black leather and silver tresses. Dark hair. A range of burning eyes. The occasional head of blonde or ruby-red hair. The same arrogance of youth everywhere. Youth who have never even seen the sky.
“And over here is the mess hall,” Nyssa says, “where we have our meals.”
One of the dragons breaks from the crowd, positioning himself directly in our path. His glossy brown curls fall precisely to his collar, not one strand out of place. The black leather uniform stretches across shoulders too broad for academic life, silver buttons gleaming under the torchlight.
“So this is what a darkblood looks like up close,” he says.
