Page 11 of Bone Year

Snow stretches as far as I can see, blanketing the world in soft white. Mountains rise in the distance, their jagged peaks covered in ice, while dark trees are frozen beneath layers of frost. We’re high. We’re higher than I realized. Beyond the slopes, I catch sight of vast, glassy fields of ice, like a massive frozen lake extending toward the horizon. I can only assume we are somewhere in the Frostlands, the northernmost reach in all of Valen. It’s nearly impossible to travel here and even harder to survive the year-round freezing temperatures and volatile storms.

“Yeah, this building has some of the best views,” Elizabeth says. “You’re on the far edge of the school grounds, so nothing blocks the scenery.”

I turn back to her, only then noticing the symbol on her sleeve. It’s the same circular design, but hers is crimson instead of amethyst, a heart at its center with a serpent coiled around it.

“Wait,” I say. “Before we go, can you tell me what these symbols mean and why I’m dressed like this?”

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” she says, settling onto the foot of my bed.

“No, I don’t, so please explain. Maybe that’s why they told you to come see me,” I reply, leaning back against the cold glass of the window.

“Every first year is assigned a mentor on their first day,” she says. “Someone to show them around, make sure they get settled, and answer questions. I’ll check in on you periodically throughout the year too.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “I see. So I’m not special then.”

She smiles, clearly amused. “Not in that way at least, but you are the only human who has ever been accepted to Ashwell, and everyone is already buzzing about it.”

I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

Elizabeth hops to her feet and crosses the room, yanking the wardrobe open. She pulls out the black cloak and carries it back to the bed, spreading it carefully across the blankets in front of me.

“Year one is bone year. This is its symbol. You’ll see these symbols all throughout the school,” she says, her fingers trailing over the ribcage and wolf. “All three symbols stacked on top of each other form the symbol of Ashwell Academy. Year two is blood year. That’s the year I’m starting.” She taps the serpent coiled around the heart. “And the final here, year three, is breath year.” Her finger drifts to the bat with lungs beneath it.

“But what does it mean?” I ask. “What actually happens in bone year?”

She crosses back to the wardrobe and hangs my cloak neatly in place before answering. “Every year has a set curriculum. Bone year focuses on structure, survival, and physical reality. You’ll learn all the basics. Professor Cane likes to say, ‘Before you can save a life, you must understand what holds it together.’” She snickers after performing a stodgy imitation.

“And we’re supposed to dress according to our year every day?” I ask.

“Weekends you can wear whatever you want, but during classes they’ll expect you in your year’s attire. During labs, you’ll have a locker to change into proper training clothes or a lab coat to protect your uniform.”

I nod, committing it to memory.

“Come on,” she says, already moving for the door. “We can talk while we walk. Plus you’ll learn more at the orientation this afternoon, well maybe. The headmaster can be intense.”

We both shrug into our coats and step out into the hallway. It’s still quiet up here, and I hurry to keep pace beside her as we descend a wide staircase that spirals down through the center of the tower. I tilt my head back, counting at least three more levels rising above us.

“There are six floors total, and each one has five to ten rooms depending on size. This tower is ladies’ housing for all the first years.” She gestures vaguely upward then glances behind us toward a pair of large double doors at the base of the stairs. “The men in your year live right through that courtyard.”

We reach the bottom, and she smirks over her shoulder. “We are all adults, of course, so there are no rules about having men in your room. Housing is just organized this way. But keep in mind the walls aren’t that thick.”

She winks then pushes through the massive double doors on the opposite side of the entrance hall, leaving me to trail after her with my heart thudding a little harder than before.

The thought hasn’t really crossed my mind until now that I am going to be taking classes with a whole lot of men and women my age, and none of them will be human.

I’m not terrible at talking to people after working in the clinic and speaking to patients day after day, but most of my patients were human. Most of them were elderly. The only boy my age I have ever truly spent time with is Jace.

Our village never had many children. Since we were educated at home, tutored mostly by my parents, my world was always very small. Jace, Briana, and the eccentric husband and wife who live in the tavern down the street from our house are my people.

That leaves Jace as my one real friend.

The idea of navigating a school full of magical bloodlines around my age, of learning how to exist among them, makes my stomach twist.

It’s a good thing I don’t mind being alone, because I have a feeling I am about to be very alone indeed.

Once outside, I’m taken back for a moment by the courtyard. It is a winter wonderland of snow and ice, but alive with motion. Students cluster in loose groups, talking and laughing, boots crunching against frost, arms full of heavy-looking books. Breath fogs the air. The contrast is jarring after the warm, hushed stillness of the dormitories, and I simply stand there, overwhelmed.

“How many people attend Ashwell?” I ask, as Elizabeth tugs my arm to get me moving again, my gaze drifting as I take it all in.