He turned to showcase the creature that I wanted to kidnap and give kisses.
“He might look harmless,” Augustus warned. “But beware, he is a feral creature—touch him and you’ll reap the consequences. You’ve been warned.”
Poco the racoon looked down at us from his high vantage point—a black-and-white ponytail wrapped around his fist—and flashed a full set of razor-sharp teeth that looked like they belonged in a shark’s mouth.
His black eyes flashed as he tipped his head back and screeched.
Avoid the rabid racoon.
Got it.
“As most of you already know,” Augustus continued, “I am known for my honor. I will not torture you just to torture you. Everything we will do in this classroom has a purpose.”
Initiates relaxed, some smiled at the professor with relief, and he nodded back at them.
Patro said he was even mannered; maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
“I see we have a... girl—in the class this year.” Augustus stared down at me. “That is unfortunate.”
Boys snickered behind me.
The professor’s attention was intense as he held my gaze. “What is your opinion of women participating in the crucible?”
He waited for an answer.
“It’s... good?” I shrugged, not sure what he wanted me to say.Frankly, I’m not exactly sure what any of this even is.
Augustus’s congenial expression disappeared; pure loathing twisted his features. “So that bastard really had a sanctimonious daughter, just like himself. You really think other women should be subjected to this test?”
Oh no.
I’d definitely given the wrong answer.
I opened my mouth to dispute it, but my mouth was dry and I was tongue-tied. “Oh th-that’s—” I struggled to speak. “Not w-what?—”
“Save your excuses.” Augustus cut me off with his hand raised. “Future generations will have to suffer because of your stunt. Have you thought of that? Or are you just selfish?”
Soulless black eyes bore through me.
Um, I have no clue what you’re talking about. Have you ever thought of that?
I rubbed at my hair-tie-covered wrists, phantom pains shooting up my forearms, then I ripped my gaze away from his and stared at the floor.
Skin prickled under the weight of his fury.
Finally, what felt likeageslater, he turned his suffocating attention away from me.
With a dramatic turn of his long toga, Augustus wrote “TheStory of The Minotaur” in Latin across the chalkboard. “Turn to page two of your textbooks,” he said in Latin. “The story begins with?—”
Wax dripped slowly.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Eyes closing with exhaustion, I held my trembling legs to my chest to conserve body heat as I listened to the sordid story of a feral Minotaur and Kronos.
My brain hurt as I tried to piece together the Latin words that were spoken in a random order and form them into sentences.
It’s a dead language for a reason. Someone needs to kill it again. Also, whoever invented it should be stabbed twenty-three times in the back.
