by B N Miles
Sam imagined what he might do if the blonde were his mark for a theft. The man would most likely be found in his chambers on any given night regardless of who he bedded. Sam had seen it time and again when he was scouting for a lead—an arrogant man like the blonde didn't join with women outside of his own chambers for fear of vulnerability. If there was a slim chance of humiliation—a peeping servant, an overheard statement, something 'inferior' between his legs—then he would preserve his ego and insist on bedding down in his apartments, where everything was safe and familiar. Sam would pick a feast week during summer, preferably the second day when the blonde wasn't yet exhausted from a week of stuffing his face and dancing into the morning. He would hide in the man's room for an hour and a half after he fell asleep to ensure that the blonde was in the middle of a dream and harder to wake up. Servants never entered a room when the master was asleep, so it would be Sam's best chance to steal his objective and get away rather easily.
Sam smiled to himself, half smug at his quick assessment and half amused at his need to win.
Drina may be good at herding men around with her looks, but Sam was good at getting information by watching the exchange. The better spy wasn't the one who was easily able to work information out of marks in the field. The better spy was the one who was able to gather the same information without entering the field to begin with.
When the blonde finally got to the couch, Drina leaned on the arm.
"Hello,” he said, looming over her. His smile dimmed for the smallest moment, so quick that Sam could have imagined it. 'Hello' probably wasn't the best lead-in, and the blonde seemed to realize it only after he opened his mouth.
"Hello, yourself." Drina cocked her leg up and left a small space between herself and Nubia. The swell of her hips curving into her waist was almost artful, like a masterful painting.
"I couldn't help but notice you looked a little bored over there," she said.
His grin brightened again, his earlier blunder forgotten. "I suppose I was."
If he was trying to sound slick, it wasn't working. Banal would be a more apt descriptor.
"Well, in that case, come sit with me." She flicked her eyes to the empty spot next to her and his grin got impossibly bigger. In seconds, the blonde rounded the couch to plant himself between the two girls, stretching his arms along the head of the seating. Drina shifted until she was practically curled under his arm.
And then she looked at the blonde in the exact same way she looked at Sam. The blonde guy met her salacious expression with hooded eyes. Sam had to hand it to Drina, she was pretty damn good. He could almost feel the magnetic attraction between them, and yet he knew that it wasn't really there to begin with.
If Drina didn't graduate from the Academy, she would find a very promising career in theater.
"You look so familiar," she said quietly. "Have we met before?"
"I'm sure we haven't. I would have remembered if we did."
"Oh, aren't you a sweet thing." She nudged him playfully with a dainty push to his shoulder. "Maybe I've seen you in the palace . . . or maybe you're a tourney champion? I swear I've seen your face before . . ."
"The palace?" Well, he'd handed her his standing on a silver platter. One point for Drina. The blonde frowned, probably trying to reconcile how he hadn't seen her before if she'd been to the palace. If Sam were him, he'd think that meant Drina was either a lesser noble or a servant, which meant that she would be easy to coerce if he needed to. That was assuming that the blonde wasn't above threats and blackmail. By the look of him, Sam doubted he was.
The man's expression didn't change, so maybe he didn't come to that conclusion at all. He said, "Maybe you have seen me, then. I apologize, I was likely busy at the time. Had I been paying attention to my surroundings, I would have introduced myself, of that I can assure you."
"Oh, I'm sure you were very busy. But you're not busy now . . ." She leaned in a little closer. "So maybe you'll have time to give me a name to go along with that pretty face."
"Delcan Greyman," he said.
"Oh my, you're Delcan? I most definitely know of you by your . . ." she flicked her eyes to his lap, then back to his face, "substantial reputation, at the very least."
"Oh?"
"Mm. Quite. One of the girls at the palace, I won't mention who, had a lot to say about your . . . skills."
"Do tell."
"Now, now," she tsked, "a lady never betrays the trust of other ladies. However, I can tell you that she mentioned your prowess in the coliseum. Is it true that you beat a man twice your size?"
"Well, I wouldn't say twice my size. Perhaps more like three."
"Three. Spirits, you're already so considerable. I can't imagine how strong he must have been. How did you do it?"
Declan's eyebrows bounced and he tilted his chin up a bit higher. "He . . . couldn't stand the heat."
"Hm. Poor thing. I guess it's lucky that I can." Drina was, at this point, sharing breath with him. If Sam wasn't conscious of spoiling her work, he would have asked her how she knew what questions to ask. It was clear that she was being vague and letting him fill in the blanks, but there was nothing on him to indicate that he was noble enough to spend considerable time in the palace, or that he was a good enough fighter to compete in the coliseum. It was impressive, definitely a skill that he would like to analyze and include in the rest of his repertoire.
"Glad to hear it," he muttered, almost brushing noses with her.
She pulled away a little and his face leaned in closer, like it was trying to follow her. She said, "I think we should have a celebration for our first night as official Academy students."
Drina twisted a lock of hair around her finger and pinned him with an intense, purposeful stare. "Maybe I can have my little party in your room, since mine will be unavailable . . . unless your roommate would have a problem with that?"
The idiot didn't even ask why her room was unavailable.
"You can absolutely do that. And I don't have a roommate, so no problems there."
"Mm. So, we could hypothetically celebrate all night, and nobody would complain about the noise?"
"No, I'm at the end of the hall on the first floor. Nobody will hear a peep."
She leaned in again, and this time she actually touched him. Her hand splayed over his chest and she angled her head to stare up at him while he craned his neck to look down. It almost looked like they were going to kiss. Drina walked her fingers up his chest and he leaned in more, their lips almost meeting.
Drina pressed a finger against his lips and he seemed to come back to himself for a moment, frowning hard.
"A lady never compromises herself in public," Drina murmured. His frown cleared away for a smirk and he leaned away from her.
She leaned back against the armrest and crossed her legs. "I'll see you later, Delcan."
Declan's face dropped at being abruptly excused, but then his smirk returned. "That you will."
He stood up and that time, he gave the rest of them a cursory glance. His eyes stayed on Mattie a little longer than Sam, and when he looked at Nubia, she stared right back with a coy smile. It was the look that Drina had given him, and just as dangerous.
When he'd taken his leave, Nubia rolled her shoulders and stood up. "Well, it seems that you're right, Drina. Men do make terrible spies. They're good for a few other things, though, and I don't mind compromising myself in public."
Drina rolled her eyes. "Do tell me how that goes. I predict it will be quite disappointing."
"I guess I'll just have to see and find out."
Nubia gave them all a small, parting wave before she slinked off after Delcan.
"How did you do that?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes at the girl. "Know what to say, that is."
Drina shrugged, "His accent sounded central Varin. His belt was made of black bull skin and stamped with a southern seal on the top seam. The only people living in central Varin that can afford such luxuries, and on a belt of all things, are
far wealthier than a baron. There were other hints that helped me along, age and behavior and such."
"You could tell what skin it was?" Mattie's expression was serious and focused.
"Well, yeah. The man who we rent our cropland from sells pelts and skins to the export caravan. Even black bull. Most of his income is from animal hides."
Sam's eyebrows shot up. She was from the southern farmlands. She specifically said 'we rent our cropland.' Drina, despite her air of refined allure, was a farmer. Suddenly, Sam felt much more relaxed. She was just like them: poor enough to never have a chance at affording tuition, yet skilled enough to be accepted regardless. He could learn a thing or two from her. By the way she carried herself, he would have never guessed. Sam stuck out like a sore thumb. Maybe it was his posture or his hair, maybe it was the way he spoke, but infiltration would be much easier if people believed that he was one of them. Drina could probably teach him how to blend in like she did.
"Well, Drina from the southern farmlands." He stuck his hand out and she clasped it to shake, a curious smile dimpling her cheeks. "I'm Samson Croft, and I'm very good at stealing things. Better than you, I bet."
"Oh, would you like to wager?" Her little smile turned into a happy one and lit up her face. "Well, let's play and see who wins."
There was a new gleam in her eye, a competitive one. Sam's heart rapped against his chest a little faster and the need to defeat her was overwhelming any doubts he might have had that she might win. She wouldn't win. He would.
A shrill ringing struck the room from somewhere outside. It was loud enough to be unmistakable but quiet enough to avoid startling anybody.
Sam's answering smile was crooked and self-assured. "Let's play, then."
4
The students filed behind Gyna like ducklings into the main quad. She ordered them to stand quietly on the grassy lawn and wait patiently for the headmaster. That had been ten minutes past, and Sam could feel the restlessness of the large group. It also hadn't escaped his notice that the older students were watching them.
Sam could spot a few of them ducked under trees, tucked between buildings, and staring out of open windows. If he hadn't been looking for them, he wouldn't have found them. He promised himself that one day, he would be the one peering at the young newcomers, wondering which ones would make it to the next year.
Just then, the massive front doors creaked open and a hush fell over the gathered students.
"Finally," Mattie huffed from his left side.
"Isn't he an eerie one?" Drina muttered from his right.
A thin man strolled from the front doors. He might have been wispy if not for his stately height that made him seem more phantom than man. His face was stormy and almost wrathful, scowling at nothing in particular. He walked with purpose and focus, his entire countenance both intense and intimidating. His long snow-white hair was almost the same hue as his skin, and his light red eyes made him look even more menacing. Like death embodied.
That was Gregory Mode. It was said that he was once the enchanter of the wild court far to the forbidden north, past Laum and any comprehensible maps. Some said he was a retired assassin, one of the very few in existence to even make it to retirement age. And still others said that he was the bastard son of the late King Torian, shackled as headmaster to the school by his half-sister, Queen Rhean, so that he could never have a chance to further his reputation at court and become favorable for the throne.
The headmaster halted abruptly between the grass and the concrete walk, leaving a few feet between himself and the first row of students. His red gaze rolled over them and a bubble of dread filled Sam's stomach when he met the man's eyes for a fleeting moment. Mode's white eyebrows furrowed deeper as he surveyed them, passing over again and again while others filtered out of the open doors behind him.
Some of them were younger than Mode, some were older, but they all carried a certain air about them that, while not as lethal as Mode's, was still capable and experienced all the same. Teachers, if Sam had to guess. They gathered behind the headmaster in two perfectly symmetrical rows, like Mode's extra arms. When the last of them took their place, Mode cleared his throat and folded his arms behind his back in a classic military stance.
"Welcome, students," he said. His voice was disarmingly deep and guttural. It had a cold edge to it that brooked no argument or embellishment. "I am your Headmaster, Gregory Mode, and I would like to congratulate all fifty of you on your admittance to the Varin Academy for Outstanding Young Adults. Every year, we receive hundreds of applications, and you are the ones who made the cut. Be it because of your exceptional skills in subterfuge, your unique talents with magic, or both, our administration has selected you for the potential we believe you have, and the service you can perform for the empire."
Sam frowned and looked questioningly at Mattie, who looked just as confused. They never applied. If that was the usual way, then they must have really stood out. The question of how the administration knew to look for them was worrisome. Sam had assumed that they just surveyed the city at night to spot thieves and the like, but maybe he and Mattie left behind a trail on accident. Maybe they had been close to getting caught, or an active investigation was underway. Something had to tip the administration off, after all.
"Unfortunately, of the fifty of you, only half will pass your first-year exams and move onto the next steps in your education. This half will become part of our elite military unit after the fifth-year final exams. You will be the tip of the spear in Varin's campaign against the Meerans, and with any luck, it will be you who may finally bring an end to this war."
Mode gestured to the teachers flanking him. "These will be your instructors throughout your time at the Varin School. They will push you to your limits to hone your skills. By your third year, you will be sorted into specialized training. Some of you will be spies, some assassins, some will be shadow officers, and some will be in front-line combat as support units for our foot soldiers."
Eight adults broke away from the ranks and stepped forward without prompting.
"And without further ado, I will introduce your instructors. Professor Parin is our tracking and outdoors master. Professor Sheet is our meditation and magic instructor . . ."
As Mode began introducing the teachers, Sam got the sense that he was winding down from his speech from the way his voice lost its angry intensity and took on an almost mechanical quality. It seemed that the other students got the same impression, for they were beginning to subtly move and shuffle within the small crowd.
Sam looked from the left to the right. People were eyeballing one another and gathering into smaller clusters.
He slipped his arm around Mattie and bent his head slightly to whisper in her hair. "We gotta get a new crew together."
She frowned heavily and gave him a doubtful look, so he flicked his eyes to the side. She followed his gaze to the small group he was looking at.
Mattie looked around at the others and realization dawned on her face. Everybody else was already gravitating into crews whether they knew it or not. Maybe it was just instinct for humans to try and find allies among a sea of new faces, or, unlikely as it was, maybe the nobles knew a bit more about street survival than Sam realized.
"—welcome, once again, to the Varin Academy for Outstanding Young Adults. I wish you a prosperous semester and all the best of luck. You are dismissed. Gyna will escort you all to the mess hall for your afternoon meal."
He gave them all a curt nod, spun on his heel, then slunk back into the huge main campus building, his large collection of professors milling after him. Gyna stepped into the spot the headmaster had occupied only moments before and shouted for all of them to follow her.
The mess hall was eerily quiet. Sam expected to see a room packed with twenty-somethings stuffing their faces and talking loudly enough to cause a small roar. Instead, when they breached the chamber, a room full of silent twenty-somethings stared at the lot of them as they passed. Sam decided tha
t his sort of people—the ones that stole things and quietly watched the world around them—were a creepy bunch.
He ignored the stares and kept his arm around Mattie. Gyna disappeared without giving them any further instruction on where they were supposed to go. As the rest of them glanced around to try and figure out where to go and what to do next, Sam opted to claim an open table and simply watch the others figure out where the food was. He'd let them explore and experiment.
Sam led Mattie to one of the empty rectangular tables toward the far corner of the room. They were large enough to seat eight comfortably.
It didn't escape his notice that Drina was right on his heels as well, probably trying to avoid Delcan after her little game. He had no idea why she didn't destroy his expectations like she did his own, but it was none of his business, so he didn't ask.
He and the two girls sat down. To his surprise, Fletch plopped himself in the chair directly across from Sam. Some of the other first years claimed tables as well, four or five of them per group. A few of the others went to the front of the room to try and find out where the food was.
As it turned out, the mess hall wasn't self-serve.
A silent woman appeared at Fletch's shoulder and the nobleman startled, holding a hand to his chest and grinning crookedly at her. "You know, it's polite to make at least some noise when walking behind somebody."