Page 17
He left before dawn. Chief Wings Officer responsibilities, according to the note he pushed beneath my door.
"You'll be fine. West staircase for the academic halls. Do not follow Dax anywhere. —C. "
Useful. Mostly. The west staircase should be easy enough to find. It would be easier if the Academy had only one. I tuck the note into my satchel and study the schedule again. Inheritance Studies — Hall of Lineage, Western Academic Wing. Below it, in smaller writing: Attendance is mandatory. Tardiness will be recorded. How comforting.
Students continue flowing around me with practiced precision. Upper years walk while discussing theories I only half understand. I grip my schedule a little tighter.
Yesterday, Varethia felt enormous because it was beautiful. This morning, it feels enormous because everyone else already knows how to survive it.
The western staircase leads me to a circular gallery. From there, three corridors divide beneath identical stone arches. Each bears a different carved symbol. A flame. An open eye. A branching tree. None resemble anything on my schedule. Excellent. I choose the tree. Fae magic is still inheritance. It seems reasonable.
It is not. The corridor ends at an outdoor courtyard where a dozen second-years stand barefoot in damp soil with their eyes closed.
A professor walks between them carrying a long wooden staff. "Again," she orders. Vines rise from the earth. Some twist elegantly around stone pillars. Others collapse immediately. One student loses control and sends a branch directly into the fountain. The professor does not react.
"Your frustration is not fertilizer, Miss Eluin." The student's cheeks turn red.
I slowly step backward. Wrong wing. A wolf behind me nearly collides with my shoulder.
"First year?" He asks.
"Is it that obvious?"
He looks toward my schedule, then toward the courtyard. "Yes." He answers.
"Wonderful." I sigh.
"Hall of Lineage is through the eye corridor."
"Thank you." I smile.
"You have six minutes."
He walks away. I stare after him. Six minutes. The Academy apparently believes humiliation improves when timed.
I return to the gallery and enter the correct corridor. Students hurry past tall windows overlooking the lower training fields.
Far below, rows of upper-years move through combat formations while professors observe from raised platforms. No one is laughing down there. Commands carry across the distance.
"Again! Hold the line! Control before force!" The words follow me until the corridor bends.
The second bell rings. Sharper this time. Five minutes. I increase my pace. So does everyone else.
The relaxed students from breakfast are gone. In their place are heirs, soldiers, scholars and future leaders moving with disciplined urgency. The Academy does not ask whether we feel prepared. It expects us to become so.
I find the Hall of Lineage with less than a minute remaining. The doors are still open. A small victory.
The room is shaped like an amphitheatre, with curved rows descending toward a circular teaching floor. Six tall panels rise behind the professor's lectern, each carved with the symbol of one people.
Crimson veins for vampires. Silver claws for wolves. Golden branches for fae. Blue waves for sirens. A pale stone eye for Medusae. Black wings edged in fire for the dragon-blooded.
Most seats are already taken. Students have grouped themselves almost instinctively. Not entirely by race. But close. I scan the room for an empty place.
A girl with pale blond hair looks up from the second row. There is something immediately striking about her. Not only the color of her hair, pale as a cloud. Her expression is open in a way most people here are not. Alert. Slightly nervous. Kind. The seat beside her is empty.
"Is anyone sitting there?" I ask.
She glances at the chair as if she had forgotten it existed. "No." Then quickly— "Unless you want somewhere closer. I don't mind. I only chose this row because the front felt too exposed and the back felt suspicious."
