Scarlen was glad Professor Tibark interrupted them, as she still took issue withbelongingto Bear Vyer.
‘Let’s discuss why crime is rising?’ Tibark pointed at a broad lad in the front row. ‘Gerridan, explain.’
‘It’s the war, professor.’
‘What about it?’
Gerridan shrugged. ‘The southerners keep taking parts of Borough Mids, and we’re all losing work and money, mostly our farming communities, and it’ll be the north they take after that.’
Temple scoffed. ‘The king has been trying to save everyone. Some midlanders support the king. It’s everyone else making it hard, starting wars. Oh, and try to remember our army helped some of Borough Mids with food supplies.’
Gerridan turned, scowling. ‘No one has ever helped us with food. We grow our own. But then King Renwah came along, claiming we were vulnerable to attack by wyrmocs, took our land, then charged us for the use of our own crops. Over the last fifteen years alone, the king’s army have edged its way into Borough Mids, and not once have we seen any sign of a wyrmoc. In fifty years’ time, the royal family will rule all, which is exactly what the king wants. He knows we don’t bow to royals, but he doesn’t want us living by the government rules, does he? No, so he’s been using scare tactics to stick his flag on non-royal land. He’s not helping anyone but himself, and he’s getting away with it.’
Temple wrinkled his nose.
‘Notice the tax rises, Temple?’ added Gerridan. ‘No, of course you haven’t, as it doesn’t affect your lot. You’re already used to giving your king half your income each month.’
Scarlen watched Temple open and close his mouth. Was that the truth? As far as she knew, her father was only trying to protect the vulnerable from the phantom wingless dragons. He had told her how deadly they were, how they would be hard to kill by sword or arrow. How they would rise from the ground, as foretold by the ancestors. He was in preparation, gathering warriors, witches, the wisest in the land, finding ways they could strike back. And for his trouble, he has to deal with resistance, even some members of the government fighting him, and war breaking out in places. She decided not to get involved in the debate, as half the class looked fit to kill the other half as some arguments broke out.
Gerridan scoffed, waving a hand dismissively at Temple, then the room. ‘Perhaps the king’s time would be better spent trying to undo the enchantment on the south, then he wouldn’t be in need of the farms in the mids. Our land is nourished, and trade has always been good, but the king doesn’t want to trade anymore. He wants to own the farmlands because thebeautifulsouth cannot grow such food in their magickal sand. You see, another reason he comes for us.’
‘Why do you think midlanders hate southerners so much?’ Kylar kicked the back of Scarlen’s bench, then leaned forward to tug her plait, causing Scarlen to yelp while turning to free herself from the strong grip, which only happened when she slammed her fist down on Kylar’s wrist.
‘Enough!’ roared Tibark. ‘The next person to strike will go straight to the pillory. Do I make myself clear?’
Some mumbles and nods were his response, then the class settled to write a page on why they thought war made crime worse.
It was a little hard for Scarlen to concentrate while her mind was occupied with how some of the midlanders and northerners viewed her father’s help, the trouble it was causing. If only she could stand up and plea her father’s case, perhaps then some of them would understand his actions. But the thought brought on a cold sweat, as she wasn’t sure who would try to kill her first. If only she could help bring peace. Talk to her father. Let him know about the misunderstanding. Perhaps have him find another way to help everyone without them thinking he is taking over their homes. Raising taxes.
‘You have to fight sometimes, even when you don’t want to,’her father would say. She could see him by the chalkboard, holding court.
Kylar’s head was close. ‘I’ll see you on the mats, Smithson,’ she whispered, and the king’s words echoed once more.
Scarlen’s fingerswere cramping by dinnertime from more time in the silent system, and her stomach was rumbling. The thought of fullness and lying on her bed had helped spur her on, even when they got an extra ten minutes added onto their time because Temple sarcastically asked Mr Kane if they could sing to help pass the time.
The clatter and chatter in the canteen was at a low hum, meaning one of the stricter guards was patrolling the area, but Scarlen cared little for anything other than the aroma of seasoned pork greeting her at the entrance, the sage and onion flavours teasing her watering tongue as she neared the stack of trays at the end of the short queue made of the late stragglers held back by Kane.
‘Smithson. Here!’ Miss Binnow bellowed across the canteen, a sea of eyes on her at once.
Trying to ignore everyone watching, Scarlen did her best not to drag her feet, as Dionne had told her to always walk tall no matter what, show no signs of weakness. But Scarlen felt tired, and the lack of sustenance wasn’t helping.
Miss Binnow tapped her baton as she glowered, the harsh lines on her forehead permanent, grim. ‘Pillory.’
‘What about it?’ It was too late to think it a stupid question. The chunky palm of Binnow’s hand landed flat against Scarlen’s cheek, the sting instant, the shock waking all nerve endings.
Bear stood, gaining attention until Oxley tugged him back to his seat.
Scarlen hadn’t time to stumble from the hit, as Binnow grabbed her arm and marched her to the pillory, a guard called Mr Jontson by her side all the way.
Darkness had set deep, and the ice in the air deathly, but fear of the unknown ruled the moment Scarlen was locked into the cold metal framework in the courtyard, her head and handspoking through wooden holes, her legs loose to do nothing but stand.
‘Teach you for fighting during lessons.’ Binnow checked all was bolted, then stepped off the small platform. ‘Next time, you’ll be straight in a dark cell, like your opponent.’
Kylar.
Scarlen was wise enough not to respond. It was quite obvious her words would only fall on deaf ears, or worse, earn her a prod with the lightning rod. Nope, now was not the time for defence. Sagging, she kept her sigh silent so as not to provoke.
‘You’ll be released six-thirty sharp.’ Binnow stomped away, her resting bitch face firmly in place.
