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Ishouldn’t be surprised that my room is made from stone, but somehow I am, if only in anoh, God, more stonekind of way. Back home, our house had been made from light, cooling materials.
And then everything changed.
Don’t go there.
It’s clear that the girls have been banished to the tower. Only recently, since the UK laws changed to forbid same-sex schools, have girls been allowed to enroll at Lochkelvin. So now the most elite boys’ school on the planet gets to existandlook like they’re being progressive by opening their doors to girls. It’s a win-win for Lochkelvin.
And here I am, in my modest little stony box room at the top of Lochkelvin tower, feeling like a political pawn.
Part of the first intake of girls at Lochkelvin Academy.
It’s dark and gloomy and there are no proper windows, only a narrow vertical slit that a rush of freezing air constantly flows through. There’s a small single bed. I notice a little bug ambling along the edge of the wall. Nevertheless, the room looks clean enough despite its age.
I wonder what poor prisoner stayed here.
My luggage is already here, and I almost feel sorry for whoever had to haul it up hundreds of stairs. I didn’t pack anything extravagant — only the essentials, plus a couple of snacks from back home. The first thing I do is rummage for my socks, ball them up, and then stuff them into the long narrow gap in the wall. This kind of window might have been great for slinging arrows out of when Lochkelvin existed as a genuine fortress, but unfortunately I forgot to pack my crossbow.
I pull out my phone from my blazer pocket and dump it on my nightstand with a sigh. In this land of no signal, I may as well have brought a brick.
The last things I pull from my case are a length of ribbon and small, pale, satin shoes.
Ballet shoes.
They’re the oldest thing I own, from when I used to obsess over ballet. Once upon a time, my tiny feet fit inside them as I danced and danced across the years.
Ribbon is something you can’t outgrow. It’s a red satin length my grandma gave for my first ballet recital. I used to wear it up in my hair, tying my long curls with an elegant finish back in the days my mom still liked me. More recently, I’ve taken to wrapping it around my wrist.
Well. My wrist and somewhere else.
I brought them as a reminder. A reminder to myself of what I can and can’t do when I’m still limping around. When my soul still hurts from what happened back home, from the things that almost happened before fate and cowardice had intervened.
They’re the only sentimental items I own these days.
Beside me, there’s a small room containing a toilet and sink, with an oval mirror that looks like it’s seen better days. I stare at my reflection. I no longer have elegant curls. My mousy brown hair’s all over the place, a bird’s nest that’s had all the elements thrown at it. My face is pale and shaken, like part of me is still cold or stunned with shock. Especially after what Rory had said to me in that dark, threatening murmur —we’ll be getting rid of all of you precious snowflake bitches one by one…
I collapse onto my bed, running a hand down my face. It feels as though the wind is swirling around the tower, and I hold back a shiver as I imagine a powerful gust wrecking the building, stones falling forever onto the sodden ground below, my body in freefall before it’s also demolished to pieces.
Don’t think of destruction. It’s all in your head.
Still, being placed here away from the rest of the school, I can’t help but feel like the madwoman in the attic.
I hang up my clothes while listening to the howling wind. This is what I signed up for. To study at the most elite political academy in the world, the one with the most rigorous teaching and best opportunities for the future. Lochkelvin has produced some of the finest politicians of the age, some of the most powerful CEOs and political lobbyists. Flick through a copy ofTamemagazine and count how many pages feature an alumnus of Lochkelvin — they’re everywhere, all connected, all ruling the world, andI want in.
I’m in a cold, harsh, beautiful country, and I have to get a grip on myself.
Precious snowflake bitches.
I screw my eyes shut. Maybe I misheard him. Why would anyone with common sense and a decent upbringing say anything like what Rory just said to me? He doesn’t know me. He has no idea who I am.
There’s a knock on my door just as I’m hanging up the last of my clothing. It’s a tentative sound, like whoever’s on the other end isn’t sure they want me to answer.
I open the door, desperate for company.
Four faces stare back at me, all girls. Their eyes take me in, every aspect of me in a split-second judgment, until the brunette at the front makes a small noise of relief.
“Thank God — we need all we can get. They said there’d be another one arriving but we weren’t sure. Can we come in?”
