Page 24

Rowan looks offended. "It absolutely is."

The fourth bed remains empty. Our Medusa roommate left before sunrise with a stack of books pressed against her chest. Apparently mornings at Varethia are divided into two categories: People who prepare. And people who lose clothing. I am determined to belong to neither.

A bruise-colored dawn presses against the windows. Beyond the glass, mist clings to the lower cliffs while dragons move through the sky as dark shapes against the mountains.

I dress quickly. Combat uniform today. Black trousers reinforced at the knees. A fitted long-sleeved shirt. Leather guards around the forearms. No formal jacket. Thank the gods.

Rowan finds her glove beneath Selena's bed. Selena says nothing. Rowan says even less. I decide not to involve myself.

Nyra waits outside the Hall of Lineage with two books held against her chest. Her pale hair is braided loosely over one shoulder, nearly white beneath the morning light. Her blue eyes find me immediately.

"You came." She says.

"I said I would."

"I know." She smiles. "I still wasn't sure."

"Why?" I ask.

"You looked tired yesterday." She says that softly.

"I was tired yesterday."

She relaxes slightly. Then looks at my uniform. "Are you nervous?" She asks.

"No." The answer comes too quickly. Nyra notices. She is polite enough not to say so. Instead, she adjusts the strap of her satchel.

"I am." She admits.

"Have you trained before?" I ask.

"Some."

"That sounded vague."

"It was meant to."

I smile. "At least you're honest."

She looks at me. "I'm trying something new."

We begin walking toward the eastern training grounds. The third bell has not yet rung, but the Academy already feels sharper than it did yesterday.

Students cross the courtyards carrying weapons wrapped in cloth. Professors stand near the entrances to the combat halls checking lists. A group of wolves runs past us in formation, not speaking. Farther down, two Medusae practice footwork across painted lines while a siren instructor corrects their breathing. No one is here to play at being powerful. They are here to learn what power does when handled badly.

The Hall of combat theory is circular. Of course it is. Apparently the Academy believes every important lesson should take place inside a room designed to make escape inconvenient.

The floor is divided into twelve wide rings painted in pale silver. Wooden weapons line the walls. Training dummies stand between stone pillars, each marked with glowing fractures across the chest, throat, knees and ribs. Students fill the outer benches. Mostly first-years. Some already dressed like fighters. Others gripping their gloves as though they might run.

Rowan waves from the front row. Beside her sits Aricia, our Medusa roommate, looking entirely unsurprised to see us. Selena occupies the seat beside her. She has already taken out a notebook.

Nyra and I sit behind them. Rowan twists around. "You look confident." Rowan says.

"I am." I admit.

"Dangerous." She smiles.

I rise my eyebrows. "That was the intention."