by M. A. Larson
Each morning, after eating the food they’d helped prepare, the company would split in two. The former Ironbone girls would join the former Thrushbeard boys to learn some new technique for surviving in the enchanted forest. Increasingly, this was the only time Evie, Maggie, and Basil got to spend with Demetra, at least, without the presence of Nessa and Liv. Then, when Captain Ramsbottom was finished with them, they would rejoin the rest of the Leatherwolf girls for late-morning physical drills with the Fairy Drillsergeant before heading back to the kitchens to prepare lunch. There was a torturously short break after lunch, and then it was off to various parts of campus for more specialized training. Depending on the day, the cadets might join Princess Ziegenbart for Theory and Practice of Witch Systems, which was far more interesting than it sounded. Or Riddles and Puzzles taught by a squirrelly little man called Professor Regensburg, or Life at Court with the elegant and haughty Princess Elmstein. Thursdays, however, were the worst. Those were the days when the cadets were forced to descend into the dungeons below a particularly dire castle known as Finnegan’s Grave, where Professor Adelbert, an overblown balloon of a man with sharp, manicured facial hair, would subject them to one horror after another, all courtesy of a magical bag he claimed to have gotten from a dying dwarf in an enchanted forest. That was Applied Courage, and it was Evie’s least favorite bit of training.
Still, despite the arduous schedule, Evie seemed to be having the best of it. Since Princess Beatrice had so decisively handled the situation with the three princesses in black, the incident had faded from her memory. And she was very much enjoying seeing Remington during Captain Ramsbottom’s drills.
Maggie was not having such a good start to the year. She positively wilted every time Princess Copperpot was near, certain she would make some tiny mistake and be sent home. No amount of reassurance that she was the best cadet in the company could convince her she would survive the day. She spent more and more time in the Academy’s various libraries, filling any free moment with studying and reading to compensate for getting in trouble that first day. Demetra, whether she realized it or not, was seeing just as much of Nessa and Liv as she was her old friends. She made some effort to merge the two groups, but whenever they all sat next to one another at meals or stood together while waiting their turn for drills, it always ended up with Evie and Maggie off by themselves as Demetra and Nessa and Liv laughed about some mutual acquaintance from the Eastern Kingdoms. And Basil, poor Basil, might have had it worst of all. The Leatherwolf cadets who had come from Goosegirl Company made no effort to accept him as one of their own. He couldn’t pass by a third-class company without laughter and muffled commentary. As the days passed, Evie could see that being an outsider had started to take a toll. His jokes about wanting to be sent home had taken on a worryingly serious tone. It all came to a head at the start of the third week of training, when Basil joined Leatherwolf Company midway through lunch.
“Hiya,” he said, plopping down in his usual spot across from Evie. He immediately began tucking into his roasted quail and squash. “Where’s Maggie?”
“She ate three bites and ran off to the library. Where were you? You’ve missed nearly all of lunch.”
“In the Crown Castle. I put in a request to transfer to the knights’ track.”
“What?”
He shrugged. “I asked to become a knight.”
“Why in the world would you do that?”
“I dunno,” he said, picking meat off a wing bone with his teeth.
“Demetra, did you hear this?”
Though Demetra was sitting just to Evie’s right, she was busy talking to Liv. “Hmm?”
“Basil’s just asked to transfer to become a knight!”
“You did? But why, Bas?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
“You want to leave us?” said Demetra.
“Maybe it’s for the best,” said Liv. “He’s clearly not happy here.”
“Yes, and thank you very much,” spat Basil. “No one’s asked for your opinion.”
“Basil!” said Demetra. Liv’s eyes went wide. She turned to talk to Nessa, showing Basil her back.
“I understand she’s your friend,” said Basil quietly, “but she isn’t mine. And I don’t particularly care what she thinks.”
“Still, there’s no call to be rude,” said Demetra.
“Can we please get back to this knight business?” said Evie sharply. “What do you mean you want to transfer?” She was surprised at the level of betrayal she was feeling at that moment.
He sighed. “It was all different when we were first years, wasn’t it? We were different. These new girls look at me like I’m some sort of deviant.”
“Who cares what they think?” said Demetra. “I can’t believe you did that, Bas.”
“Beatrice rejected the request anyway. I’m not going anywhere.”
Evie chomped on a piece of granary bread, her face curled up in a scowl. “You could have talked to us first. What if she’d said yes?”
“It doesn’t matter, it isn’t happening. Though she did say I could observe one of the knights’ courses. I was hoping for one on dragon anatomy or chivalry or something, but the only one that works with our off-hours is sword training. I’m not bothered, though. My brothers have already taught me quite a bit about blade work. Bertrand has a beautiful—”
“I’m very cross with you right now, Basil!” said Evie.
“Me? Why?”
She slammed her bread onto her plate with a clatter and marched away from the table. She headed for the door, passing through the third-class tables on the way.
“Hi, Evie.”
“Evie!”
“You should come speak to our company, Evie!”
She ignored them all, bursting out into the gray afternoon and filling her lungs with frosty air. They’d been such a tight-knit group of friends back in Ironbone Company, and now Basil was actively trying to leave. She’d been so excited to get back to the Academy to see her friends, and now she had to admit that Basil was probably right about one thing: they were different this year.
One particularly misty morning, Evie found herself standing at a large oaken table near the edge of the Dortchen Wild with a jar of bear urine in her hand. The table was covered in all manner of things that could be used to survive in the forest.
Only a few more weeks of this, she thought. A few more weeks and we’ll be finished with third-class training and Captain Ramsbottom and his disgusting bear urine.
“A trail of bread crumbs?” said the barrel-chested woodsman in his slight voice. “Ha! Ah-ha-ha! Bread crumbs are quite possibly the worst thing you could use to create a trail! You might as well throw down some bloody birdseed! Ha-ha!” He scooped up some of the bread crumbs sitting on the table and tossed them into the forest. They were immediately set upon by birds. “See?”
Evie glanced at the jar in her hand. She wanted to set it down, but he hadn’t given her permission yet. It didn’t help that Remington was watching her with a smile.
“I can’t tell you how many boys and girls have been lost in the forest because they somehow got the idea that bread crumbs would help them get back home. You don’t leave a delicious trail, it’s as simple as that. Dried peas, small stones, things of that nature will provide a much more reliable trail.
“Now, what else have we got here?” Ramsbottom snatched the jar out of Evie’s hand, nearly splashing her. “This is bear’s urine. If you’re concerned about wolves, as all of us should be, there’s no better repellant than this.” He dumped some onto his enormous hand and splashed it behind his ears. “A touch here and there, and wolves will steer well clear.”
“So will everything else,” muttered Basil with a grimace.
“Remember,” said Ramsbottom, reacting to the disgusted groans from the cadets. “Your goal is to stay alive, not to keep yours
elf ready for the next formal ball. And staying alive doesn’t always smell of roses.”
Evie, her hands now empty, stepped away from her urine-soaked instructor.
“Now, on the subject of urine,” continued Ramsbottom, “we all know witches have very poor eyesight but an excellent sense of smell. I’ve never tested bear urine on a witch before, but if you’ve got a jar of it handy and you see those yellow eyes in the trees, you might think about giving yourself a splash—”
Crack! Crackity! Crack! His words were swallowed up by a flurry of splintering wood and shuddering leaves from deep in the forest. There were huge thumps and more cracking sounds. Something was coming, and the trees weren’t happy about it.
“To the wall!” shouted Ramsbottom. “Go!”
The cadets stampeded for the wall as the entire forest crackled to life behind them. The trees attacked whatever was out there, but it just kept coming.
Once they reached the wall, the cadets found that they couldn’t get back inside. An invisible blockade of magic rose up in a dome over the entire campus, and only a fairy’s wand could open it. There were screams all around. Evie thrust her hand forward, but the air seemed to thicken around it, as though she were reaching through an invisible curtain that became stiffer the harder she pushed.
“Fairies!” bellowed Ramsbottom. “We need fairies!”
Evie looked back. The trees at the edge of the forest were shuddering violently. Whatever was in there was almost upon them . . .
“Help!” shouted Captain Ramsbottom. Realizing they were trapped, he picked up a dead log and wielded it as a club. One by one the cadets turned to face the forest. All they could do was wait and see what was coming out of the depths of the Dortchen Wild.
“Open the gates!” came a voice from the trees. Then, through the crackle of wood and the rustling of leaves, they heard the thunder of hooves. “Open the gates!”
Evie held her breath and braced herself. She reached down and grabbed Maggie’s hand. Finally, a figure appeared out of the trees. A horseman, riding full out.
Another galloped along behind him. They were large men in black leather and shining plate. A third rode out next, smaller than the rest. Younger, and wearing a white cloak. The riders began to hoot and shout, circling back to taunt the forest that had just tried to kill them. But the youngest stared straight ahead with eyes the color of a thunderstorm, as though he didn’t even see the collection of knight and princess cadets pressed up against the wall.
“You there,” shouted one of the horsemen. “Open the gate.”
“Do I look like I carry a fairy’s wand?” said Ramsbottom. “Who are you lot, anyway?”
“It’s Forbes,” said Evie. “That’s Prince Forbes.”
“Forbes?” said Ramsbottom, incredulous. “Blimey, so it is!”
It was him, the boy whose curse Evie had inadvertently cured the previous year. His black hair was a bit longer than it had been, windblown and dangling across his face. He had grown noticeably taller over the summer, though his cheeks were sunken and his fingers were bony. There was blood on his cloak. And his hands. And his horse.
“I hadn’t even realized he was gone,” said Maggie softly.
“Nor had I,” said Evie. “Though I suppose it has been a bit too peaceful round here.” She and Forbes had had a contentious relationship the previous year. Most of it stemmed from an argument about the portrait that had cursed Forbes in the first place. He insisted it had been Evie’s likeness in the portrait, but she was adamant that that wasn’t possible.
“So sorry, Captain!” shouted a fairy from behind the wall. “Trouble with the new fairyweed bushes!”
“You’re never to leave the wall untended!” bellowed the Captain.
“You’re right, you’re right. One of the new bushes died and I . . .” She fumbled with her tiny wand, then gave it a swirl. The air itself seemed to lift off the broken stone and float up into the sky. “Never mind that. It was my shift, and I should have been here. I offer no excuse.” The cadets clambered over the wall to safety, still rattled by Forbes’s dramatic appearance in the forest.
Evie watched him closely as his horse clopped past her. His eyes were haunted, and his face was somber. He had seen something. Something that had left him shaken to his core.
“I wonder what happened to him,” said Demetra.
“I don’t know,” said Evie. “But it wasn’t good.”
Behind the barracks, hidden beneath a stand of sprawling oaks, sat a small ravine. Leatherwolf Company had unofficially claimed it, dragging in some of the logs the woodsmen had cut to use as benches. They named it the Pit. Whenever there was a break in the day, if the weather cooperated, they would head down to the Pit and sing songs from home. Two of the former Goosegirl cadets were skilled with stringed instruments. Learning each other’s songs had helped bring Ironbone Company and Goosegirl Company together in ways training alone couldn’t.
Evie and her friends, however, had never been further apart. She sat alone on a boulder at the fringe of the company, watching the revelry from a distance. Nessa danced down the hill behind her. As she passed, she said, “Come on, Evie, come join us!”
“I’m fine, thanks.” She watched Nessa move through the crowd to where Demetra and Liv were clapping along to the music. Maggie had gone to the library the minute the Fairy Drillsergeant had dismissed them, and Basil hadn’t come down with everyone else. She was alone.
“I was there when the mountain rose from earth / Poking up to the bright blue skies / I was there when the snow melted down its face / You can bet I’ll be there when it dies . . .”
The whole company, eighty strong, clapped along with the Eastern song, even those who weren’t familiar. Evie, however, kept looking away from the crowd, back up the hill. Her mind had wandered to Prince Forbes. She had all but forgotten about the cursed portrait the previous year until Forbes’s father had made a comment that brought it flaring back into her mind. He had said that the portrait was titled The Princess of Saudade, which was exactly what Remington had called her in one of her dragon’s blood visions. The coincidence was simply too great to ignore. She was desperate to see the portrait with her own eyes, to see if it really was her in the painting.
At the top of the ravine, Basil stepped out of his storehouse, tightening his scabbard around his waist. He was off to observe the knights’ sword training. Evie was suddenly struck by a mad idea. She sprang off of her boulder and bounded up the hill, then ducked into the barracks and ran to her bunk. There, beneath her mattress, was her sword. She raced back out and caught up to Basil as he crossed Hansel’s Green toward campus.
“Evie! What are you . . .” He noticed the scabbard in her hand. “Oh.”
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, I don’t mind. The better question is, will Beatrice mind? You haven’t asked permission, have you?”
All around them, huge flocks of cadets in various colored uniforms were coming and going, either finishing training or heading out for more. The campus bustled in a way it never had during their first year.
“If Beatrice wants to reprimand me for trying to better myself instead of sitting round clapping with the others, then so be it.”
“All right,” said Basil. “Let’s go.”
“And why do we keep our off hands behind our backs, men?” called Captain Lamarche, who had the most spectacular mustache. It looked like the filigree of a wrought-iron gate.
None of the Huntsman cadets answered. They were scattered across a wide expanse of dirt, squared off one against another, each holding an arming sword.
“It’s because the empty hand is an easy target,” Basil said to Evie. They were sitting atop a small set of risers at the edge of the training area, where they were meant to be observing. Captain Lamarche turned and glared at him. “Oh . . . sorry.” He chuckled nervously.
“Yes. The empty hand is an easy target,” said the Captain with disdain. “Men, hands behind your backs, please. Positions.” The cadets raised their swords and put their free hands behind their backs. “There, you see? One less target for the enemy.”
Evie wasn’t paying attention. She was looking at Forbes, who was seated at the bottom of the risers in his Huntsman red. He was the only knight cadet not participating.
“Remember, men. When defending, your objective is to be where the strike is not. Group A, I want a simple downward strike. Simple, but deadly. This is combat training. We’re not mucking about in the garden. If you get cut, then ideally you will learn to not get cut next time. And if you get killed, well, then you’ll have saved me the trouble of sending you home.”
There were scattered laughs, though Evie could feel the tension in the air. None of the cadets wore armor. She watched Remington as he raised his sword. He was as tall as anyone else in the company, but with a confidence that made him seem twice as deadly. Still, she had very little interest in seeing his blood on the ground.
“That stance doesn’t work if you’re using a two-hand sword,” said Basil. “You need both hands to trap your opponent’s weapon—”
“Will you shut up?” spat Forbes.
“Better yet,” said Lamarche, clearly annoyed, “why don’t you come down here and join us since you seem to know so much about swordplay?”
“Me?” said Basil. “That’s all right, Captain, I’m fine here—”
“Get down here, Cadet.”
Basil looked over at Evie and gulped. His hand, already shaking, went to the pommel of his sword.
“It’s all right, Bas, it’s only training,” she said, though her heart was thudding for him.
“Why should some princess cadet get to practice and I can’t?” said Forbes.
“We’re meant to be easing you back into your training,” said Lamarche. “But if you feel you’re ready, then by all means, come join him.”
Basil stepped out into the training area. Forbes marched to the sword rack and picked up an arming sword.