C H A P T E R E I G H T It took more than a week for the Gray Wolves to reach the border of the Kingdom of Tamron. The spiderwebbing waterways of the Fens eventually coalesced into the broad and lazy Tamron River. It meandered south, wrapping around islands and sandbars as if it didn’t really care where it was going.
Waterwalkers poled rafts and flatboats up and down the river at will, there being little current to fight. The Wolves traveled mostly at night, staying well away from the riverbanks, and making wide circles around Waterwalker villages. After their experience at Rivertown, they did not know how they would be received.
They slipped across the border one night, waiting until after sunset. They needn’t have troubled themselves. The keep that frowned over the river road on the Tamron side was abandoned—occupied only by feral cats and armies of mice, living amicably together. The stable yard was overgrown with brambles and grasses. Some of the stonework had been cannibalized by scavengers.
“Tamron must’ve sent their armies south and east, to reinforce the border with Arden,” Amon said, kicking at a rusted bucket lying in the weeds. “Seems they’re not worried about the Waterwalkers down here.”
They slept that night in the shelter of the ruined castle. Amon directed Raisa to a corner of what must have been the officers’ mess, and planted himself and his bedroll next to the door. The other Wolves found sleeping space in the courtyard.
Raisa could see stars above where portions of the wooden roof had rotted away. It was good to have sturdy walls around her, after their experiences in the Fens, yet she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Once again, she second-guessed her decision to leave the Fells. Homesickness lay like a cold stone under her breastbone.
The mountains called to her, all the dead queens in their tombs of stone. Raisa, they whispered. Raisa ana’Marianna ana’Rissa and all the other ana’s back to Hanalea. Come back home.
I refuse to cooperate in the re-enslavement of the Gray Wolf line, she thought.
Finally, she rose and walked to the doorway and stood over Amon Byrne, where he lay cocooned in his blanket. He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes.
“What’s the matter?” he whispered. “Why are you up?”
“Why can’t I ever sneak up on you?” she demanded.
Amon sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Why don’t you try it in the daylight?”
Raisa snorted. “If I can’t do it when you’re fast asleep, how could I expect to do it when you’re awake?”
“I’m just saying it would be more convenient in the daylight.” He yawned.
Oh. Right. Raisa stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s just I can’t sleep.” She stared down at her feet in the heavy wool socks that were scarcely needed in this strange southern climate.
“Hmmm.” He raked his hand through his tousled hair. “Here. Sit,” he said, patting a stone bench next to the door. Raisa sat. He slid out of his blankets, wearing only his breeches, and sat next to her.
She took his hand between her two and leaned her head on his shoulder. She traced the veins on the back of his hand with her forefinger. His hands were large, blunt-fingered, capable. She loved his hands.
A voice whispered in her head. I will lean on Amon Byrne for the rest of my life.
After a brief silence, he said, “If it means anything, I think you made the right decision. Leaving the Fells, I mean.”
Raisa blinked up at him. “How did you know that’s what was bothering me?”
“Lucky guess,” Amon said, looking away and shrugging his shoulders. “You’re not one to run from a fight, and you can hold your own with most anyone in a fair go. But how could you hope to fight your mother and the High Wizard both?”
“But my mother’s the queen,” Raisa said. “How can I expect others to bend their knees to me if I rebel against my liege ruler? How can my people trust me if I run away?”
Amon gazed down at their joined hands. For once he didn’t pull away. “You pick a battle you can win, and choose the time and place of it. Don’t let the enemy choose.”
“Is that what they teach you at Wien House?”
“It’s what my da says. The Bayars wouldn’t have risked pushing this marriage and enraging the clans if they weren’t sure of the outcome.”
Raisa sighed. Somehow, out here in the lonely dark of this peculiar autumn, what had happened back in Fellsmarch Castle on her name day seemed like an overwritten melodrama starring somebody else.
“They could be wrong. The Bayars, I mean.”
“Aye, they could be,” Amon said, his voice measured. Meaning he doubted it.
“She does resist Lord Bayar sometimes,” Raisa persisted, somehow compelled to defend her mother. “Maybe it’s more a matter of influence than control.”
“Maybe. Still, you’d be married to Micah Bayar if you’d stayed.”
Micah. Raisa looked up at the stars, focusing, trying to dispel the memory of Micah’s face, of the kisses that had sizzled through her like flame through paper.
“Let’s talk about what will happen when we get to Oden’s Ford,” she said, suddenly eager to change the subject.
“I don’t suppose you’ve reconsidered the idea of going to the Temple School?” Amon said this with little hope.
Raisa sighed. “Except for my time at Demonai Camp, I’ve studied art, music, and languages all my life. I need to learn something else.”
She looked up into his face, willing him to understand. “Going to Oden’s Ford is risky, but it’s also an opportunity. None of the Gray Wolf queens has gone there, not recently, anyway. I’ll learn things my mother can’t teach me. The queendom is under siege, and we’re running out of time.” Raisa suddenly realized she was gripping Amon’s hand really hard, and let go her death hold a bit.
Amon looked sideways at her. “Because of what happened with the Bayars?”
Raisa shook her head. “It’s not just them. I feel like the sand is washing from under my feet.” She laughed bitterly. “I sound like my mother, the melancholy queen. But, unlike her, I’m not willing to trade sovereignty for protection.” She paused. “The problem with the gift of prophecy is you’re never sure if it’s a true vision or just the doldrums setting in.
“Lord Bayar is right about one thing—we’re going to be under assault from the south as soon as the Montaignes quit fighting each other. I’ll never be a soldier, but I need to know more about diplomacy, politics, and military strategy. I need to know my enemies better.”
“So you want to go to Wien House.”
She nodded.
The moon freed itself from a veil of clouds, and light spilled into the ruins.
“Micah and Fiona Bayar will be at Mystwerk House as first years,” Amon said, raising an eyebrow. “The Manders, too.”
She sighed. “I guess I’ll run into them sooner or later.”
“Maybe later, if we’re lucky.” He rubbed his nose. “One advantage of Wien House is that it’s on the opposite side of the river from Mystwerk. Warriors, engineers, and accountants—the practical arts—train on one side of the river. Wizards, healers, and the temple artists train on the other side. There’s not much mixing between.”
“Really?” Raisa said, surprised. “Why not?”
Amon smiled, his white teeth flashing against his sun-dark skin. “Any red-robed wizard newling who wanders onto the Wien House side is likely to be pitched into the river. It’s mostly southerners on our side, and they aren’t keen on anything magical.”
“Wouldn’t they think twice about tangling with a wizard?” Raisa said.
“You’d think.” Amon nodded. “But there are strict rules about magical attacks within the academy. Any kind of aggression, actually. You’ve heard of the Peace of Oden’s Ford, I guess.”
Raisa nodded. “It’s amazing they can enforce it. And since the school’s between Arden and Tamron, I’m surprised neither has tried to take it over.”
“Arden and Tamron would both love to have the academy, with all its wealth and knowledge,” Amon said. “Arden disapproves of Mystwerk because it trains wizards. The Church of Malthus wants to shut Mystwerk down, and they’ve tried to overrun the school before. But the faculty and students fight to defend it. You’ve got the most powerful wizards, the best military and engineering minds in the Seven Realms. Nobody’s messed with them in a long time.” Raisa waited, but Amon seemed determined to make a long story short.
“Do you think getting into Wien House will be a problem?” Raisa asked.
“My da said he’d write recommendations to the masters of the Temple School and Wien House. He used to teach at Wien House, so he has some influence.” Amon paused, as if debating whether to go on. “Taim Askell is the master of Wien House, though, and he could be difficult.”
“Difficult? How?”
“Let’s just wait and see,” Amon said. “I don’t want to call down trouble that might pass us by.” He looked up at the sky. “Promise me you’ll go to Temple School, though, if you can’t get into Wien House?”
“Let’s just wait and see,” Raisa said. I’ll get in, she told herself. I’m not wasting my time at Oden’s Ford.
“If you’re recognized, you may have to leave at a moment’s notice,” Amon said, tightening his grip on her hand.
She nodded. “I understand. But I don’t see where I could go that would be safer. Not Arden. Tamron’s a possibility, I guess,” she said, thinking of Liam Tomlin.
“What about farther south? Bruinswallow or We’enhaven?” Amon said.
“You’re the one who suggested Oden’s Ford in the first place,” Raisa said. “Besides, I don’t know people in Bruinswallow or We’enhaven. That’s my problem. I haven’t been anywhere; I don’t know anyone outside of my own realm except the people who came to my name day party. I could end up someplace where they sacrifice foreign princesses to their gods.” She paused, but Amon didn’t smile. “I can’t put myself under someone else’s control. And I want to stay close enough to get a message to my mother.”
Amon’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t mean that, Rai. It’s too dangerous.”
“She needs to know I’m still alive,” Raisa insisted. “And that I still love her, and that I’m coming back. I don’t want her to have any doubts about that.”
“How are you planning to send a message in a way that doesn’t lead directly back to you?” Amon said. “Here I’m worrying about your running into Micah, and you’re planning to stand up and wave at Lord Bayar and say, ‘Here I am!’”
“I’m not writing to Lord Bayar,” Raisa growled.
“Same as,” Amon retorted. “Besides, because of the war it’s not all that easy to send mail from Oden’s Ford to the Fells.”
“I don’t know how I’ll do it!” Raisa snapped. “Why is it that everything I want to do is dangerous? Everything worthwhile, anyway. Some chances are worth taking.”
Amon muttered something under his breath.
“What was that, Corporal?” Raisa demanded. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”
Amon clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead, his dark eyebrows drawn together.
“What?”
“I said, Your Highness, that the difference between you and me is that if you get yourself killed, you don’t have to blame yourself every day for the rest of your life.”
Raisa’s cheeks warmed as the blood rushed to her face. “Do you really think anyone is out to kill me?” she said softly. “Isn’t it more likely that I’ll be carried back to the Fells to marry Micah if I’m recognized and taken?” She shrugged. “If that happens, I’ll deal with it. As long as I’m alive, I’ll find a way. I promise you this: I will not be a captive queen.”
Amon looked up at the sky, the silvery moonlight washing over his face, gilding his chest and arms. He seemed to be struggling over whether to speak.
“You mentioned prophecy before,” Amon said finally. “I just can’t shake the feeling that you’re risking more than a bad marriage.” He cleared his throat and gestured toward her bedroll. “Best get some sleep, Your Highness. We’ve a long way to go tomorrow.”
In contrast to the Fells, where much of the land was too rocky and steep to farm, all of Tamron seemed to be tamed and under cultivation. Great orchards stretched down to the river, the arching branches of the trees loaded with fruit—peaches, apples, and strange orange and yellow fruits that made Raisa’s mouth pucker when she bit into them.
Fields of wheat, beans, corn, squash, and pumpkins were centered by great manor houses and studded with the huts of the crofters who labored in the fields. The houses were sprawling, elegant structures with ground-floor windows, not built for defense. Tamron had been at peace for as long as anyone could remember.
It was hard to believe that a war raged just a few hundred miles to the east.
Amon had visibly relaxed since they’d crossed the border, becoming almost chatty for a Byrne. There was little hunting to be had, so they bought provisions from markets in the villages along the way. Amon always made sure they paid a fair price for everything.
Raisa gained a little weight back, requiring no nagging to devour the rich, fresh, southern food. What she gained was mostly muscle, because the daily workouts continued. Raisa trained regularly with her new staff, and found it surprisingly effective, even against a swordsman. Her bladework was improving, too, although she’d never be a champion, given her size.
As they followed the Tamron River south, she was struck by how geography, weather, and terrain drove the economies of nations, creating haves and have-nots.
The industries that thrived in the north relied on materials readily available there—precious stones, gold and silver, wool, furs and leather. The Vale was the only sizable stretch of land that was arable.
So the clans had become masters of commerce, buying and selling goods produced by themselves and others. But that made the Fells vulnerable in times of war, with trade disrupted. It made it difficult to keep the people fed.
When the Seven Realms were joined together, goods, money and people flowed freely among them, making the whole stronger than its component parts.
Traveling through Tamron, Raisa thought of Prince Liam Tomlin, heir to the throne of Tamron, who’d attended her name day party. It was only two months ago, but it seemed a lifetime had passed since their flirtation in the Great Hall had been interrupted by Micah Bayar. What might have happened had Micah not hauled her away to what was intended to be a clandestine wedding?
Liam had claimed he was looking for a rich bride. Having seen a little of Tamron, Raisa was beginning to realize that the heir to this kingdom would bring a lot to the table himself. She had no interest in giving up her queendom, but how would it be, she thought, to marry the interests of the Fells and Tamron together? Prior to the Breaking, they had been united, as two of the Seven Realms ruled by the Gray Wolf queens.
Raisa was determined to seize control of her matrimonial future, to develop her own plan. There was a difference between marrying for the good of the Fells and becoming a tool of everybody else’s agendas.
As they drew closer to Oden’s Ford, the road became congested with traffic—wagons carrying produce, grain, even pigs and chickens to market. There were students, also, and here the variety was greatest. Some rode in great carriages, with escorts of armed men, servants, and baggage-wagons behind.
“First years,” Amon said, grinning. “Newlings. They’re in for a big surprise. They call Oden’s Ford ‘the great leveler’ for a reason. Everyone gets the same space—a bed with a drawer underneath. They’ll have to haul most of that lot back home, or find a place to store it outside the academy.”
Some students came on horseback, singly and in groups, on mounts ranging from blue-blooded pacers to farm stock, from healthy to spavined. Others came afoot, with road-worn shoes and packs on their backs. Hired wagons rattled by, students jouncing around inside them, eyes pinched shut against the dust.
Inns along the way were packed full. When the Wolves could find a table for supper, they were surrounded by scholars from all over the Seven Realms, even Bruinswallow, We’enhaven, and the islands. The clamor of languages had Raisa straining to test her skills. But they seemed to speak more rapidly than her tutors did.
The Gray Wolves encountered friends along the way—fellow cadets on the road back to Wien House. As a newling cadet, Raisa attracted considerable interest. Several boys struck up conversations with her. One Tamric soldier was particularly persistent, plying her with ale and flattery, until Amon’s relentless glare drove him away.
“He seemed nice,” Raisa said, watching him beat a hasty retreat.
“I know him,” Amon said bluntly. “And he’s not.”
Stores in the small towns, and peddlers along the road, displayed goods students might need—paper in many colors, quills and blotters; leather-bound encyclopedias many inches thick that the hawker claimed contained all knowledge.
A storekeeper hovered by a rack of reading glasses meant for eyes weakened from hours of study. Another offered jars of pigments, rolls of paper and canvas, brushes in all sizes, wooden blocks, and small sharp knives for carving images for block printing.
It was nearly dusk when they crested a small rise and the academy lay before them. From that distance, it might have been a fortress bisected by the Tamron River, protected by high stone walls. Temple spires, gold-leafed domes, and tiled roofs protruded above the walls, gleaming in the dying sun like lavish icing on a stone cake.
Traffic on the road ahead had dwindled. Savvy students had arrived before suppertime and were no doubt already at table. As if in honor of this thought, Raisa’s stomach growled loudly.
Amon reined in with difficulty. His horse, Vagabond, was eager to go forward, already anticipating dinner and a barn ahead.
Raisa was less sure of what her reception would be as an unexpected add-on. She hoped for a long hot bath. She and Switcher smelled a lot alike. If she’d ever hoped to impress Amon Byrne with her newly acquired glamour and beauty, that chance was gone forever. He’d seen her in every kind of ugly.
Amon, of course, seemed well suited to life on the trail. Living rough lent him a kind of rugged, stubbly patina that, if anything, made him more attractive.
“It’s getting late,” Raisa said, urging Switcher up next to Vagabond. “Maybe we should find an inn tonight and go over to Wien House in the morning.”
“We’ll have to stay in the dorms tonight,” Amon said. “The inns will be full, with classes beginning in just a few days. We’ve come after dark on purpose—there’s less chance we’ll bump into someone we know outside the gate or on the Mystwerk side of the river.”
“You know I’ll be recognized sooner or later,” Raisa said, keeping her voice down so the others wouldn’t overhear. “We’ll just have to deal with it.”
“Later is better,” he muttered. He gazed down at the town, stroking his horse’s neck. “This works really well as long as nobody knows you’re here. Once they do, it’s going to be impossible to protect you.”
“Most of my subjects have never seen me up close.” She smiled ruefully. “Those who have wouldn’t recognize me without a tiara on my head.”
He didn’t smile back.
Amon twisted in his saddle to face the others. “Stay here and rest the horses. I’ll go down and check things out.” Not waiting for a reply, he drove his heels into Vagabond’s sides, and they clattered off down the road, descending into the valley.
Amon was gone for two hours. When he returned, he wore a rather grim, resigned expression. “We’re good,” he said, the words not matching his demeanor. “I’ve spoken to Master Askell, and arranged lodging at the dormitories for tonight. Let’s go.”
As they descended the long hill to the river, Raisa leaned close to Amon. “What’s going on?” she asked. “What did Master Askell say?”
“He wants to meet with you,” Amon said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Depends.”
They did not enter the academy by the main gate, but circled around to the postern gate on the south side. Two cadets ushered them through, and locked up behind them.
Switcher followed after Vagabond without much guidance from Raisa, freeing her to look around as they crossed the academy commons.
The school was the size of a small city, but had more green space than any city Raisa had ever seen. Ancient stone buildings studded the lawns, connected by covered galleries paved with brick and twined with night-blooming flowers. The intoxicating fragrance cascaded over them, carried by the warm, moist air.
Lights blazed in the kitchens and dining halls. Most students were still at dinner, though a few had begun walking back to their dormitories, chatting and calling to friends across the commons in all the languages of the Seven Realms. Others trickled down the main road toward the river, unburdened by schoolwork, since classes hadn’t started.
“What are these buildings?” Raisa asked, pointing.
“This is the Mystwerk side of the river,” Amon said. He gestured to an elaborate stone building that sprawled over several acres. “That’s Mystwerk Hall, the oldest building in the academy. Supposedly the academy was founded when a wizard built a hut on the riverbank and began taking in apprentices.”
Raisa studied Mystwerk Hall, tilting her head back and taking in the massive bell tower. Was Micah Bayar somewhere inside?
How long had Micah waited for her at the West Wall? Had he given up his plans to come to Oden’s Ford in order to hunt for her?
They passed elaborate herb gardens quilted with flowers, some familiar, some not.
“Those are the healer’s gardens,” Amon said, noticing Raisa’s interest. “People come here from all over to train as healers and to be treated in the Healer’s Hall.”
Ahead, a stone bridge arched high over the water, lined with shops and vendor stalls, most shuttered for the night. The taverns were still open, and clusters of students spilled onto the street.
“The bridge and the shops along Bridge Street are kind of a borderland, where students from both sides mingle,” Amon said. He pointed at Raisa with his gloved hand. “So you need to stay off Bridge Street.”
Amon led the way onto the bridge. Raised voices poured out of an open tavern door to the right, followed by two students locked in a wrestling match. One wore a dun-colored uniform, the other red wizard robes. More students spilled out of the tavern and joined the rainbow of House colors.
“Must be a philosophical disagreement of some kind,” Amon said, carefully circling the mob.
“What about the Peace?” Raisa asked.
Amon laughed. “The provost guards handle fights between students.” He pointed toward three stern-looking men in drab gray uniforms striding across the street behind them, making for the struggling students.
“They’re thick out here, especially after dark, and you go before the rector if you get caught,” Amon said. “Serious or repeat offenders get booted from the academy, and there’s no appeal. Students usually try to work things out themselves.”
They reached the far end of the bridge and descended into the streets on the Wien House side. The buildings here were of newer construction, though still hundreds of years old, built of the same gray stone that must have come from a quarry nearby. The dormitories were less elaborate, more utilitarian, yet there was a stark, simple beauty about the architecture that appealed to Raisa.
The warrior academy was a complex of buildings, a citadel consisting of parade grounds, weapons foundries, dormitories, stables, classroom buildings, and pastures for livestock.
“All academy students stable their horses over here,” Amon said. “Whether in Wien House or not.”
They passed several long, low buildings that, from the smell, had to be stables. Reining in next to one of them, they dismounted. Raisa removed Switcher’s saddle and tack, and rubbed her down. A cadet directed them to a row of stalls. They made sure their mounts were watered and grained before they shouldered their saddlebags and walked over to a large stone building. Wien Hall was engraved over the doorway.
A clark sat at a table in the entrance hall with a great ledger in front of him. “Amon Byrne reporting with his company from the Fells,” Amon said. “I’ve already spoken to Master Askell.”
The clark nodded. “Welcome back, Commander. Master Askell says you’ll be staying in Grindell Hall. All of you.” The clark leaned forward, whispering to Amon.
Commander? Raisa’s overtired mind couldn’t grapple with that. Instead, she idly studied the names and dates carved on either side of the entrance—a list of class commanders that dated back to the Breaking. Noticing a familiar name, she focused, looking closer. Byrne surfaced at regular intervals over the past thousand years. Most recently, Edon Byrne, Amon’s father. And Amon Byrne.
She sensed Amon’s presence behind her, a prickling between her shoulder blades. “There are a lot of Byrnes up there,” she said, pointing.
“It’s kind of a tradition.” He took her saddlebags from her and handed them to Mick. “The rest of you, go get settled at Grindell,” he said. “Pick up extra linens for Morley and me, and put Morley’s things on the third floor. Talbot and Abbott, you’re in with Morley. Once your beds are made up and your things stowed, go on over to the dining hall. Don’t wait for us.”
He turned to Raisa. “You come with me, Morley. Master Askell is ready for us.”
Do we have to go see him now? Raisa thought. Weariness had overtaken Raisa’s hunger, and she wished she could just fall into bed. Aloud, she said, “I was hoping to get a bath first. Could I at least wash my face?”
“Better to be on time,” Amon said. “He’ll care more about your appearance if he agrees to admit you.”
The other Wolves collected blankets and sheets from a small storeroom and left the building through a side door. Raisa and Amon clumped up a long stone staircase to the third floor. Amon rapped on a thick wooden door at the top of the stairs.
“Come,” a deep voice said.
Taim Askell was standing in front of his desk when they entered. He was tall, maybe a little taller than Amon, but probably outweighed him by half. His bulky, muscular frame overwhelmed the room, though the office was a good size. His face was creased and lined by long years of sun and weather, and there were crinkles at the corners of his eyes that said he had smiled at some time in the past.
He wasn’t smiling now.
A faculty robe lay folded across the back of his chair; otherwise, the room was neat and uncluttered, everything in its place, save a packet of papers spread over the desk surface.
Bookshelves lined the walls, packed with matching volumes in gold-stamped black leather—histories of military campaigns. A map of the Seven Realms covered the wall opposite the door, and a framed map of Carthis in sepia ink hung behind his desk.
“Master Askell,” Amon said in Common, pressing his fist over his heart in salute. “Commander Byrne reporting as ordered, with the applicant Rebecca Morley, sir.”
Raisa copied Amon’s salute, wondering just how much Master Askell knew.
“Be at ease, Commander, and…Candidate Morley,” Master Askell said in Ardenine-accented Common. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing at two straight-backed chairs. It was more order than invitation.
Raisa sat bolt-straight on the edge of her chair, resting her hands on her thighs, trying to look taller and more substantial. More deserving of admission.
Askell did not sit. Instead, he loomed over the two of them like the Breaker on the Day of Judgment. As if he didn’t mean to give them more than a few minutes of his time.
“This won’t take long, I assure you,” Master Askell said, reinforcing Raisa’s initial impression. “I have made it a practice to interview every applicant who seeks entrance to Wien House, particularly those who request special privileges.”
“Special privileges, sir?” Raisa glanced at Amon, who stared into space, a muscle working in his jaw. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.” Raisa meant to err on the side of too many sirs than too few.
“Exactly what is it you expect from us, Morley?” Askell folded his arms.
His hostile tone startled Raisa into speech. “I would imagine that my expectations are similar to those of any other cadet, sir,” she said. “I hope to benefit both from study under the Wien House faculty, and through interaction with a diversity of students.”
“Is that so?” Askell tilted his head. “And how, exactly, will your presence here benefit Wien House? And the world at large?”
Raisa blinked at him, her weary mind too sluggish to respond. “Um…”
Askell plowed on as if he hadn’t really expected an answer. “Commander Byrne tells me that you come from the nobility, that though you are female, you are your family’s lineal heir, as is the—ah—custom in the north,” Askell said.
From his expression, Raisa guessed that he disapproved of that custom.
“We attract many applicants from noble families. Many more than we can possibly accommodate. Some families see the military as a means of developing character or addressing certain physical inadequacies. Others see it as a way of disposing of n’er-do-well sons or less than promising daughters.”
Worn out as she was, Raisa’s temper began to smolder. “I assure you, Master Askell, sir, my parents did not send me here for any of those reasons,” she said stiffly.
Askell raised an eyebrow. “So it seems. You come without a letter of introduction from your parents, which is unusual. Perhaps you ran away to join the army, then. Perhaps you see this as a means of rebellion against them.”
“I did not run away to join the army, sir,” Raisa said. “I am here to seek an education that will prepare me to carry out my obligations to my family and the Fells.”
“We do have a letter of recommendation from our alumnus Edon Byrne.” Askell paused, as if expecting Raisa to comment, but she said nothing. “And your own commander has asked for certain accommodations for you. This raises immediate concerns. Most candidates wait until they are admitted to request special treatment. Do you really think Wien House is a good fit for you?”
“Master Askell, perhaps I—” Amon began, but the master shook his head.
“I asked Morley, Commander,” Askell said, without taking his eyes off Raisa. “I need to make sure that your presence here won’t be a distraction that adversely affects the education of the other cadets. We have a responsibility to them as well as to you. Our students are organized into cohesive units. Instances of favoritism work against that.”
Raisa looked straight at Askell. “I am curious, sir, about the accommodations Commander Byrne has requested on my behalf,” she said. “Since he did not choose to share them with me.”
For a long moment, Askell didn’t answer, as if Raisa’s response was not what he expected. The master stalked to the sideboard, grabbed up a teapot, and set it on the hearth to heat.
He turned and leaned against the mantel. “Commander Byrne has asked that all Fellsian cadets from his command—and you—be lodged together in Grindell Hall, when it is our policy to mix cadets from the different realms together in the dormitories as well as in class. It is also unusual to house first years like yourself with fourth years like the commander.
“Further, he has asked that a unique curriculum be tailored for you—one that crosses school boundaries to combine military science, rigorous physical training, geography, diplomacy, history, and finance. In fact, he has proposed a curriculum that would likely occupy you for all of your waking hours and many of your sleeping ones.”
“What?” Raisa said, making no effort to hide her surprise. “I had no idea, sir, that Commander Byrne had taken this degree of interest in planning my education.” She turned and stared at Amon, who did not meet her eyes. Seeing the spots of color on his cheeks, she realized what it had taken for him to spend his influence with Askell in trying to secure special treatment for her. It was not the way he operated.
She turned back to Askell. “However, hearing it, sir, I think it sounds perfect for me.”
“You are coming late to the academy,” Askell said. “The other cadets your age have been here for three years already. It would be a challenge for you to master the usual curriculum, let alone one so…demanding.”
“I am used to hard work, sir,” Raisa said, lifting her chin. “I’m not totally untutored. I fostered with the Spirit clans for three years in the Fells.”
“Did you, now?” the master said, his face displaying a flatlander’s disdain for the clans. “I fail to see how that applies to your admission to a military academy.”
Edon Byrne says I ride like a Demonai warrior, Raisa was tempted to say.
“If I may, that is the reason I proposed a somewhat different curriculum for Morley, sir,” Amon said. “As you know, much of the first three years here at the academy is physical training—horsemanship, wayfinding, tracking, survival skills. There is considerable overlap with what Morley learned in the upland camps. Morley has also been training hard for the past month in flatland weaponry. I think you’ll find that—”
“If it could be done in a month, we would be that much more efficient, now wouldn’t we, Commander Byrne?” Askell said, emptying a paper of tea into the teapot. Using a rag to protect his hand, he carried it over to his desk and set it on a battered trivet.
Finally, he sat down in his high-backed chair and looked at Raisa as one might a child who overreaches. Raisa had seen that look often, and it never failed to annoy her.
“Is it really your intention to be a soldier, Morley?” Askell asked. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to study the softer sciences? Healing, art, and philosophy are all important topics. That’s a more typical course of study for those of your station.”
“My station or my gender, sir?” Raisa said. “You’ve said Wien House is full of thanelings and dukes. I can think of only one way in which they are different from me.”
“There are women in Wien House,” Askell said stiffly. “Surely, Commander Byrne has told you as much.”
“There are women, aye,” Raisa said, her voice quivering with anger. “And they’re all from the north, and likely the daughters of soldiers, right? No gently raised ladies?”
Askell looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “No gently raised ladies,” he admitted. So at least he was honest.
Raisa stood, her fists clenched at her sides. “To answer your question, no, sir, I don’t mean to be a soldier. But kings, dukes, and lords have been sending their heirs to Wien House for more than a thousand years—not to make them soldiers, but to make them better leaders.
“I’ve been stuffed full of philosophy and art and the softer sciences, as you call them. If I could stitch or sing or recite my way out of a crisis, I’d be well prepared. I came here because this is said to be the best place to get an education in the Seven Realms. I came here to fill in the gaps in my education, to prepare for the times I’ll be making decisions all by myself, when knowledge of leadership, engineering, and military science may make the difference between success and failure.”
Raisa glanced at Amon, who sat motionless, save his gray eyes flicking from her to Askell and back again. “What Commander Byrne has proposed sounds like just what I need. But I’ll train as a simple soldier if that’s what I have to do to get an education. I’ll live wherever you assign me. I ask no accommodations from you. If I fail, I fail. But maybe I’ll learn something in the meantime. Sir.”
Raisa bowed to the master, saluting him as Amon had done. “Thank you for your time, sir. I’ll leave you to discuss this with Commander Byrne.” She backed from the room, knowing she’d probably ruined any chance she had of staying at Wien House.
Furious tears stung her eyes as she banged down the stairs. She paused on the second-floor landing to collect herself before descending the rest of the way. When had admission to Wien House become so important? Two months ago she’d had no plans to come to Oden’s Ford at all. Was this just a childish desire for anything denied her? Was this something she hadn’t wanted until Askell resisted?
Then again, two months ago she hadn’t known of Gavan Bayar’s treacherous plans to subvert the Nǽming and seize power by marrying his son to the future queen of the Fells. She needed to return well armed for the battles that lay ahead.
That Amon Byrne had turned into a truly devious person. When had he hatched this new scheme for her education, and when had he planned to tell her about it? It was arrogant on his part, yet she couldn’t help being touched by it.
What would she do if Askell refused to admit her? She didn’t have much choice. She needed to stay within the sanctuary of Oden’s Ford. But if she crossed the river to the Temple School, it would be that much more likely she’d be seen by Micah Bayar or his friends. Plus, she would lose the protection of the Gray Wolves.
Raisa asked the clark on the first floor how to get to Grindell Hall. Surely they’d let her sleep there one night, even if they booted her out the next day.
By the time she reached the dormitory, the rest of the Gray Wolves had eaten. They’d brought plates back for Raisa and Amon, but Raisa had lost her appetite. She huddled in an overstuffed chair next to the cold hearth in the common room long after the others had gone to bed, nursing a cup of tea and waiting for Amon to return.
Finally, she heard his familiar footstep. He paused in the doorway, a tall silhouette, looking in at her. “I thought you’d be in bed,” he said.
“What did Askell say?” Raisa demanded.
Amon came forward into the light and knelt next to her chair. He closed his rough hand over hers, and that strange, wild energy flowed between them. Time seemed to telescope, and it seemed she could look ahead, this same scene repeating itself long into the distance, a future that would find them growing older together.
A prophesy? Raisa’s skin prickled, and her heart accelerated. What did it mean?
“What is it about you?” Amon whispered, a bemused look on his face. “Have I told you lately that you are amazing, Your Highness?”
“Not lately,” Raisa replied, swallowing hard. “Or ever.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my idea,” Amon said. “I figured Master Askell would flat out say no, and I didn’t want you to be disappointed. I thought you might be more willing to go to the Temple School if you didn’t know I’d come up with an alternative.”
“What did Askell say?” Raisa repeated.
“Dimitri was right. You are a witch-talker,” Amon said, shaking his head. “Master Askell has approved your curriculum and your housing. You start day after tomorrow.”