“When you are in the hallways and an upperclassman from your house approaches, you must always stop, place your back to the wall, and wait for them to pass before continuing on your way,” Luther added.
I pinched my lips and stared at my feet to keep from saying something to attract more ire from these privileged aristocrats. None of the other first years protested, not even Covington. As if they all knew exactly what to expect here.
“And if you forget, you will sleep in this hallway for a month,” Luther snapped, scanning all our faces for any hint of a challenge.
We paraded down the hall behind Luther, silent as we all took in the halls of Cardan Lott for the first time. First stop, the hall for sciences. The chemistry room beckoned with long tables and microscopes.
“Dragons are a little big for microscopes, don’t you think?” said a tall, broad-chested boy with slicked dark hair and a bored smirk.
Luther tapped the doorframe to the open classroom. “Think microscopes are beneath you, Prescott? Hasn’t your brothertold you what to expect here? Tell me, what would you put on a dragon whose wing was sliced by a branch?” When no one answered, he huffed. “What would you put on an open wound?”
The blond girl lifted her hand. “I thought dragon scales were too hard to break. Dragons don’t really get open wounds, do they?”
My eyes cut instinctively to Covington. He was standing with hands in his pockets, posture slouched, eyes half-closed in boredom.
Wintercress, I wanted to say, but I held my tongue. If Covington didn’t feel like answering, I wouldn’t either.
“If you think for one moment that any class here is irrelevant, think again. Chemistry might just save your dragon’s life one day, Miss…?”
“Alcott. Scarlett Alcott.”
“Miss Alcott.” Luther shook his head. “You might think you know a lot about dragons, but I assure you, you know nothing in comparison to what you will learn here. Any more questions? Good.”
We marched up a flight of wide wooden stairs as another group of students filed toward the stairs to descend into the hall we’d just left. Luther stepped in front of the group’s leader, a pretty redhead with her hair tied back in a black ribbon.
“Password,” he said, standing a little too close to her.
The girl blushed and lifted her chin. “Out of my way, Luther.” As she stepped around him, she waved her house after her. “Walk on this side, Diamonds; you don’t want to catch what that one has.” She lifted her brows and pranced down the steps, leaving Luther to stare after her.
I bit my lips to hide my smile. I liked that girl, whoever she was. A few of the female students who followed her turned doe eyes at Shep as they passed. One girl pointed at Covington andwhispered something in her friend’s ear. The two girls blushed crimson as they hurried by.
As the tour continued, we passed through wide stone hallways lined with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, and occasionally portraits of former students who had gone on to greatness. Racing champions. Members of parliament. Great businessmen. At an intersection between the literature and history halls stood a portrait of the former king from his days as a student at Cardan Lott. Shep paused before the painting and offered a quick bow, then each student in turn, as we passed, offered a quick bow or head nod to the portrait before shuffling on. It was customary after a sovereign’s death to honor his or her likeness for at least one year. My eyes lingered on the portrait, the king staring slightly off to the left, looking down the hall where he had once received an education.
After the tour, they took us back to the dorms, where we would receive our roommate assignments. My attention flicked to each of the four girls walking in our little group, wondering who I’d have to share a room with for an entire year. I hoped it wasn’t Scarlett, the blond girl who’d mocked me for never having seen a secret passage. Everything about her screamed wealth, from the shine of her long hair, to the clothes that looked like they’d never been worn, to the gaudy ruby dangling on her right ring finger. A statement, considering she couldn’t have beensurethe dragons would have let her into this house. The curly-haired girl next to Scarlett seemed to hang on her every step and every word, and I’d seen her looking at me with wide, almost scared eyes, as if the nobleman’s poor fashion sense deeply offended her. There was Vanya and a tall, thin girl whose name I didn’t yet know. Her skin was darker than Vanya’s, her eyes a striking green. Her stare was blank, not vapid but unmoving, as if utterly unimpressed by her surroundings. Out of the five of them, Vanya was the only one who’d said anything kind to me.
In the hallway outside House Ruby, Luther turned toward us. “Hatchlings,” he said, lifting his arms wide to prevent us from following. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Covington scratching the back of his neck in a disinterested way. Luther’s eyes flicked toward him until Covington dropped his hand and lifted his chin. As much power as the Covington name had, he was still a first year. A smirk curled the edge of my mouth.
“You all have to enter through the outside door,” Luther reminded us, pointing in the direction of the entryway.
Begrudgingly, we traipsed outside and then back into House Ruby from the courtyard.
Inside Ruby’s common room, the upperclassmen lounged on the couches. A tall girl stood up. She had a narrow face and a tight smile.
“Hatchlings,” she snapped, clapping her hands as she marched with prim little steps toward us. “Girls, I’m the House Lead for you. My name is Camille. You will follow me to your dormitories. Boys.” She pointed and flashed a smile at the first years. Was she blushing as she made eye contact with Covington? She had to be two or three years older than him, and still he made her blush. I coughed quietly. “This will be your home for the next three years, assuming you can keep up. I will show you to your dormitories.” Then she flashed a smile and spun on her heels, her curly hair springing out behind her.
We exited the large common room through an arched doorway on the right-hand side of the wall of bookshelves. A stone stairwell curled up and spilled out onto another creaky wooden floor leading down a short hallway. Three wooden doors dotted the hall on each side.
“Those two rooms on this side and that one there on the other side are for the first years,” Camille said, pointing down the hall. “Your rooms have been assigned, and your things are already waiting for you. Settle in and we will see you in the GreatHall for supper. I will call your names and tell you your room assignments. Alcott.” Scarlett stepped forward. “Room six.”
She descended the short list in alphabetical order. “Arivelle Miro,” she said, the slight change to my surname grating as it fell from her lips. I was used to people mispronouncing my family name, and I almost corrected her before remembering Fairfax had altered the spelling not only to hide my true identity but to reflect a name he claimed had ties to nobility in Avencia, where we claimed Myth was from too. “Room six.”
My lips turned down as I eyed Scarlett just pushing into room six at the end of the hall. Slowly, I stepped down the hallway, shoes clicking on the wood. Scarlett had left the door open, and I could see her peering down at my trunk as if it might have fleas. I exhaled slowly and stepped into the room.
Pale walls, two long beds, two desks, and a bare wooden floor met my eyes. A trunk stood at the end of each bed.
The blond girl scoffed as I entered. “They can't be serious.”
From down the hall, I heard Camille say, “You heard me. No changing.”
