As Vanya entered the room, several people turned to look at her, and a pair of boys, upperclassmen, stood up from their table, motioning to the princess for her to sit. She smiled and batted her eyelashes at them, accepting their table with a gracious curtsy. They bowed to her in return. I shook my head slightly as I dropped into a seat opposite her.
Just then, I sensed a shift in the postures and tone of conversation in the room. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw Covington strolling casually toward the food, his hair half standing up on his head as he tried to tame it with his fingers. His shirt was still untucked, and he looked like he hadn’t sleptat all. He moved lazily to the couch, where the people who were seated there scooted so he would have plenty of room to sit. He, too, was somebody who moved the world around him as if he were a moon and everyone else was simply part of the tide.
Scarlett waltzed by our table, headed for class, a ribbon in her hair and a smug look on her face. She paused beside me. “Did you know, Arvi, that dragons can sense a person’s worth? They can smell bloodlines, and they have been bred to trust only the right families.”
“It’s a wonder you’ve ever been on one, then,” I snapped back, shocked at how quickly the words fell from my mouth.
Scarlett let out a small scoff.
“And it’s Ari,” I added while she recovered.
“You know what they’re saying about you, don’t you?” She squared her shoulders toward me and planted one hand on her hip. “That you’re not really Fairfax’s niece.” My stomach dropped to the floor. “That you’re really hisdaughter, with a bottomdweller.”
Vanya’s jaw went slack as Scarlett whirled around and marched away, slipping into the hall.
I gaped after her.
“Don’t listen to her,” Vanya said, downing the rest of her tea and sliding from her seat. “Now let’s go, or we will be late.”
It was easy enough to ignore Scarlett when she was just being mean, but her words about my birth, about the rumor that I was half-bottomsider, struck a little too close to home. As classes ticked by, the sideways glances and concealed whispers from the other students proved Scarlett’s words were true. But no one came to throw me out, and, if anything, the rumor that I was part bottomsider made the other students even less likely to talk to me. Less likely to question my heritage, too, now that they thought they had it figured out, which could be the best kind of cover.
By the time chemistry arrived, the whispers were growing a little less subtle, and I yearned to head to the lair where the dragons would distract everyone, including me.
Professor Logan, in the midst of writing a formula for mixing up a drinkable wintercress solution on the board, paused and turned to the class, chalk in hand. “Okay, you might think I can’t hear you,” he said, his eyes scanning the class, “but I can. And while gossip might be more exciting than the formula for herbal pain reduction concoctions, if you miss this”—he tapped the board with his chalk—“and administer the wrong dose to someone, you could kill them. So, I suggest you pay attention.” After that, the murmurings died down, and I offered Logan a subtle, thankful nod on the way out of his classroom.
Finally, it was time for our second lesson in the lair. I waited as the rest of the houses assembled beside me in the round room, called the rotunda. The sun shone brightly, a column of pure gold stabbing through the darkness of the lair. Bryce’s dragon, Baxillian, was nowhere to be seen this afternoon, and our lairmaster stood alone in the center, hands clasped at his waist as he waited for all of the first years to arrive. Covington was the last to mosey up and take his place along the wall, which happened to be right beside me, since everyone else, save Vanya, had given me a wide berth.
Bryce called us all to attention with his first booming words of our lesson, which was going to be on the life cycle of a Cevnal dragon, starting with the egg. A few faces slumped toward the ground, and a handful of students leaned back against the wall.
“Now that you know all there is to know about Cevnal eggs and their proper care,” Bryce said a half hour later, stabbing a few fidgeting students with a glare, “we can proceed to the part of our lesson I think you’ll find more interesting.” A few people straightened; a few throats were cleared. “Today we willdiscuss the ceremony when the school formally welcomes your dragons.” He rubbed his hands together in front of his chest.
“Ceremony?” I mouthed at Vanya.
“Every year, when the first years’ dragons arrive, the entire school assembles, and you will mount your dragon for the first official time as a rider of Cardan Lott,” Bryce continued.
My attention snapped to Covington beside me. If he recognized my dragon, all hope was lost. And Bryce’s words about mounting my dragon added extra weight to the sinking feeling inside me. The saddlemaker had been working on Myth’s saddle the entire week I’d spent with my dragon in West Haven, and I had yet to ever properly mount a dragon.
“At the end of the week,” Bryce went on, “your dragons will arrive. Then your training will begin in earnest next week. But first, I will show you where your dragons will be kept.”
Professor Bryce showed us where the dragons were fed and where the dragons were groomed, each massive room constructed with vaulted ceilings and enough space for several of the beasts to line up along the wall and stretch their wings without touching one another. The architecture of this place was astounding, and I found myself staring up so much that my neck had a crick in it by the time we left. It was mesmerizing, but as soon as we stepped out of the lair, my heart sank again as I caught sight of a dragon flying back to the lair. If the duke’s son recognized Myth as a wild dragon, my dreams would be cut short.
CHAPTER 11
The following afternoon, the ground was soft from an earlier rain, and the clouds looked as if they might open again at any moment as we jogged across the grounds, per Luther’s instructions. Vanya and I were halfway through our second lap around a dark lake tucked behind the school when a frantic-looking Camille raced toward us. Prescott Gregory, Covington’s dark-haired friend from our house, and Covington were already about to pass us on their third lap.
“Did you hear any thunder?” Vanya asked, staring at the sky. “Please,” she begged. “Then we can stop.”
Camille shouted from across the lake, waving us all toward her. “Physical training has been canceled this afternoon. We’ve got to get you all inside. Right away. Where is everyone?”
“Some are still out on the trail,” Clarence called, wiping sweat from under his glasses from where he’d stopped a few paces ahead of us.
Camille shooed us back toward the main school building. “Stay together,” she yelled.
“What’s wrong?” Vanya asked, sucking in deep breaths.
“A wild dragon was spotted over the grounds.”
My gasp wasn’t any louder or more conspicuous than Vanya’s, so Camille ignored it. Had Myth come for me?
