Cool cool cool.
By the time I’m ready to collapse after lagging behind the entire class in Physical Training, the sneers have turned to jeers, and I limp back to my dorm room instead of braving dinner in the Great Hall. For the first time in a long time, I feel like a coward.
I knew this shit would be hard.
I knew I would be out of my league, ignorant and naive of the world around me.
Which is why I’d wanted to be a nameless, anonymous student hovering on the periphery of classrooms and cliques.
But in one day, that hope has been crushed because some pretty asshole stole my food and painted a target on my back. Maybe that was his goal: make it so unbearably awkward for me to simply exist that I seek him out to make it stop.
That fucker.
As I lay in my bed, snacking on food I’ve managed to squirrel away the past few days, I read. And I research. And I try to cram every bit of knowledge so that tomorrow, I’m less vulnerable than I was today. Because even though I have no magic, no wealth, and no strength—knowledge is its own kind of power.
That’s why on Wednesday I wake up even earlier, take whatever I can grab quickly from the plentiful breakfast buffet, and find a deserted corner in the cavernous library until it’s time to leave for my first class. Luckily, Professor Allard seems to have forgotten I exist, as have the professors in my Politics and Wielding classes. Despite my attempts, however, the Divination professor, a woman who almost reminds me of Misty back in Lynden minus a lifetime of LSD and shrooms, doesn’t let me disappear so easily.
“Ms. Byrke, a moment,” she announces as we begin packing our things, and I fight to suppress a groan of frustration. Deanna Chamberlain doesn’t walk so much as glides to the seat next to mine and crosses her legs, resting her chin on her fist like we’re about to spill the tea leaves.
“How are you settling in so far?” she asks. Is she honestly expecting me to tell her how I’m feeling?
Girl, you’d never guess who talked to me yesterday—that’s right, one of the Heirs! He was so hot, but then he stole my food which made me upset because I’ve been half-starved my entire life, and then gym class sucked because everyone made fun of me, and the other kids were talking about me behind my back the whole day.
“Fine,” I respond with a terse smile. She tilts her head and for a moment I wonder whether she has the power to read thoughts. Shit, is telepathy a thing?
“Hmm. You know, you’re far from the first new student who’s found themselves feeling overwhelmed by a new environment,”she offers gently. “While your particular circumstances are unusual, I’ve seen many students overcome the hardships that brought them here and achieve greatness once they leave.” Lucky me, my Divination professor moonlights as a counselor.
“That’s nice.” Get me the fuck out of here.
“I want you to know that I’m available any time if you have any questions, or if you need a sympathetic ear. Please do let me know how I can assist you best?—”
“I’m good. Thanks though,” I interrupt, swinging my backpack to my shoulders. Infuriatingly, she just smiles at my rudeness in a way that says “I know how scared you are”.
I know that she knows.
And she knows that I know she knows.
And now I don’t know how to get out of this conversation.
She seems to take pity on me. “Alright then. Next week we’ll spend some time after class picking out the tarot deck you’ll use throughout the rest of the year, unless you have one already?” I shake my head. “Not to worry, we’ll get you all squared away. Have a lovely rest of your week, Ms. Byrke.” she dismisses me before floating back to the front of the classroom.
Once again, I slink back to my dorm room with plans to raid my snack stash instead of gorging myself on dinner in the Great Hall. When my stomach protests that empty, hollow feeling I’ve tried to erase from memory the last few days, I ignore it, just like I’ve done so many times before. Despite being able to easily afford groceries from the Student Union, or even the town thanks to the generous stipend I’ve been allotted, I refuse to spend it. When I leave here, I’ll need every cent to survive wherever I end up.
I miss my alarm on Thursday morning after another late night reading, so I wait until most of the commotion in the hall has died down before rushing through my morning routine in the bathrooms, hoping to avoid having to actually interact withanyone. When I’m finally showered and changed, I start walking back to my room only to see Tori knocking on my door, and freeze before darting around the corner to wait for her to leave. I have no idea why she’d want to talk to me after her little stunt on Monday, but whatever the reason, I have no interest in hearing what she has to say.
The last few students are just meandering out of the Great Hall after breakfast, and I manage to grab a quick bite while stuffing more non-perishables in my backpack before sprinting to my classroom. I send a little mental “thank you” to the Headmaster for putting Linguistics and Divinity Studies back to back, since they’re so closely related it feels like I’m tandem learning. Separating fact from fiction is still a bit of a mindfuck, but I’m slowly wrapping my head around it.
Like Fate—that tricky bitch who’s railroaded my life—is widely considered to be some sort of phenomenal cosmic power, more influential than even the primordial forces that breathed life into our chaotic universe and, the deities born from their legends.
Skipping lunch again, I find an empty seat in Taxonomic Studies as far away from everyone else as I can, and listen with rapt attention as Professor Oscar Stanton, an older man with approximately twelve hairs on his head and worn elbow patches on his tweed sports jacket, explains the differences between different magical hybrids.
In Physical Training afterwards, I silently will the ninety minutes to pass as quickly as possible. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll spontaneously enter a fugue state and wake up just as class is ending.
Stranger things have happened.
But when the massive, hulking man I recognize from the Heir’s table earlier this week arrives with the teacher, my stomach drops. I’m already at the back of the class, but thatdoesn’t stop me from reflexively making myself smaller. It’s pointless though, the guy is tall enough to see over the crowd of students I’m using as human shields.
“Everyone,” Coach Carrick announces without preamble, “start warming up, then split into groups of three for drills. Two in, one out, and switch after 10 drills on each side. Ms. Byrke—” damnit. “—over here.” He gestures for me to join him and Goliath, who scrutinizes my every step, scanning me just like he scanned the Great Hall. He doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t have to. It’s all in his eyes, written across his face plain as day: he despises me.
