Page 6

“This is the fourth floor, east wing,” Veronelle says, finally. “Rooms one through nineteen. You’re in room nine.”

She stops at a door that looks exactly like the others, and gestures to it.

The porter opens the door with a skeleton key and dumps my trunk inside with a nod that constitutes his entire farewell, mutters something that may be a curse upon me, and squeaks his cart off down the corridor. Veronelle lingers in the doorway as I tentatively step inside.

“The refectory is at the base of the west range,” she says, speaking faster now that she’s done with me. “Dinner runs from four until seven, so eat before you go to Bone Work tonight. The crypts are reached by the stairs at the end of this corridor, down four flights, then follow the signs that look like they’re pointing to a dungeon. That’s because they are. Oh, and don’t be late. Not even thirty seconds. He locks the door.”

“Who does?”

“Professor Vale.” She hesitates and gives me a forced smile. “Welcome to Collegia Mortis, Greythorn.”

Then she’s gone, and I’m alone in a dorm room at my new university.

My own room.

I close the door carefully behind me and look around.

I’m sure some would say it’s barely a room, but compared to the room I shared with Morena until she…well, it’s more than enough for me. There’s an iron bed with a plush mattress, sheets and quilts stacked at the foot. A washstand with a basin lined with tiny painted hellebores, which I’ve come to realize are the official emblem for the school. A press for clothes, a slim wardrobe, a few empty shelves. The window is small, leaded, and looks out onto wet black stone, though if I press my face to the glass I can see one of the courtyards and the fog reaching over the buildings like ghostly fingers.

The fireplace is swept clean and feels long-unused, making the air cold enough to see my breath. I assume someone will be by later with firewood.

I stand in the middle of the room and let the fact that I’m alone, finally alone, settle on me like dust.

I breathe.

For the first time in five years, there isn’t another person in a room with me who could need me at any moment. There isn’t someone depending on me. As the eldest daughter, I suppose it’s been that way my whole life. There’s always been someone, whether it be my mother, my sister, even my father at times. Now, at least for this moment, there’s no one to serve.

It’s a strange feeling and I’m not sure I like it yet.

A faint sound brings my gaze to the corner of the ceiling, where the wall meets the beam, and I look up to find a moth watching me. It’s big, about the size of the palm of my hand, grey-brown with pale eye-spots on its wings that look back at me without blinking. It fans itself slowly once, twice.

“Hello,” I say to it.

Oh, says the moth. You see me.

I can’t help but smile.

“I see you,” I agree. “I hear you, too.”

Lovely, it says. There aren’t many that can. You must be special.

I must be a witch, I think but I don’t say it. I’m not sure if anyone else in this school can talk to insects and I don’t want it to snitch on me.

“Somewhat special,” I say, thinking about how surprised Veronelle was when she found out I was accepted without any practical tests. “Have you been here long? I hope you don’t mind sharing the room with me.”

The moth slowly flutters its wings. I have been here since I was born. I do not mind sharing with you—I can smell my fellow moths on your trunk. They must have been sad to see you go.

My heart pangs at the thought of home, imagining the moths in the loft that circled my trunk as I packed, wondering where I was going. I’m about to tell the moth this, but it’s already losing interest, pulling its feet in close, the way they do when they’re about to settle.

Below it, a small shiny green beetle minds its own business. I nod to it. It does not nod back, which is the usual way with beetles, who have standards and tend not to waste them on humans.

I feel, just for a moment, less alone.

Then I get to work.

I sit on the edge of the bed and press my palm on the air just above the mattress and push, until the air above the bed goes soft and rainbowed, like oil does on water. The grimoire comes out of my satchel first and I slide it under the bed. My wards protect any new objects from being seen and I need to keep my secrets as protected as possible.

Then I open the trunk.