“It stops right at the dorms,” Sevarin said. “That’s awesome.”
“Now you have no excuse to be late to class.”
“Ha-ha. There’s always an excuse if you put your mind to finding one.”
They passed beneath an arched entrance made of gray stone. A marble statue probably a dozen feet tall stood in the courtyard’s center, surrounded by neatly trimmed bushes. The statue was of an old, bearded man in flowing robes, holding a scroll in both hands as if the knowledge printed there were a map leading to salvation.
The words CALLIOPE HALL had been etched on the building across from them. There were three entrances, one for each wing, and the doors were marked with the numbers one, two, and three.
“I’m in Room 505,” Milo said, studying his instructions.
“No way,” Sevarin said. “Same here. We’re gonna be roommates!”
“Great,” Milo said. “I’ll never get any sleep. We can fail out of the academy together.”
Sevarin slapped him on the back. “I knew you were a party animal, Banks. We’ll get along famously.”
Milo blew air through his lips in a show of resignation. He had only been half joking.
“Hey, guys,” a girl’s voice called down from above.
Milo looked up to see Emma’s head sticking out of a window on the fourth floor.
“Emma,” Sevarin shouted up at her with a wave. “Me and your bro are roommates. How cool is that?”
“Perfect. He can help you study. You’ll need it.”
Sevarin scoffed.
“Lily’s my roommate again,” Emma said with a wide grin.
Another head appeared in the window, this one trailing long, auburn hair. Milo’s heart jumped.
“Hey, boys,” Lily called down to them. “The odd-numbered floors are for girls only. They seal the stairs with force fields after eight o’clock so there’s no funny business.”
Sevarin waved away any concern. “That won’t stop us. We still have the windows, and I’m a hell of a climber.”
Lily covered her mouth and giggled. Emma shook her head, then brightened at a sudden idea.
“I almost forgot.”
“What?” Milo asked.
“We have a present for you guys. Sort of like a housewarming gift.”
Emma and Lily disappeared into the room. Sevarin and Milo looked at each other.
The girls reappeared a moment later clutching water balloons.
“Oh, crap,” Sevarin said.
They barely had time to shield themselves, and the girls cheered at their success. Soaking wet, Milo and Sevarin ran into the dorms after them, laughing.
THE BELL TOLLED FOR LUNCH, forcing them to hurry.
Room 505’s closets were already filled with first-year uniforms. Laid out on the beds were underwear, socks, and other articles of clothing still in their shiny packaging. The labels read “Official Academy Dress. Please Dispose of Soiled Laundry Accordingly. See Instructions on Back.” Milo followed the instructions to a slot inside the closet where they could dump their laundry to have it washed and sent back at certain times each week.
“Five-star service,” Milo said. “Only the best for Theus cadets.”
“This is what I’m talking about,” Sevarin said, holding up a shower basket containing packaged bars of soap, a brand-new toothbrush and tube of paste, and a puffy sponge for scrubbing one’s body. “And here I thought this was a military dorm. It’s more like a hotel.”
“That’s because we’re still undergraduates,” Milo explained. “Wait until the third year. I hear that’s when things get interesting.”
“As long as they have—” he sniffed a bar of soap approvingly “—Nectarberry-scented soap in the Dreadnought program, I’m happy.”
The dorm was small, but it had everything they needed. One of the two beds occupied a corner with its headboard next to the window; the other was in the opposite corner with the headboard by the door. Milo chose the window bed before Sevarin could call it. The only other pieces of furniture were two small desks, two chests of drawers, and a pair of lamps on each bedside table. Bookcases were built into the bed’s underside to conserve room.
Milo emptied his bag onto his mattress and began shelving books. Sevarin made his way to the door.
“Aren’t you going to change into dry clothes first?” Milo asked him.
Sevarin looked unusually serious as he shook his head.
“I’ll catch up with you later. Want to get a quick jog in before I eat.”
Milo was again struck by the feeling that Sevarin was lying to him.
“If we’re going to be roommates,” Milo said in frustration, “we can’t keep things from each other.”
Sevarin rolled his eyes. “I’m your roommate, Banks, not your damned girlfriend. Catch you later.”
He left, still in his soaked uniform. Milo checked the digital clock hanging above the door and realized he was late. He quickly changed into dry clothes. On his way out, he locked the door using a pass code from the back of his class schedule.
Emma and Lily were waiting for him in the downstairs foyer. Apparently, Sevarin had left through another exit. Milo explained that he had gone out for a jog but didn’t mention his suspicion that Sevarin had been lying.
They made their way across campus to the Hall of Champions. Milo had suggested they take the train, but Emma and Lily preferred walking. It was such a lovely day, after all. They made small talk as they traversed footpaths, crossed a bridge over a gurgling stream, and took a shortcut across a field of flowers. By the time they reached the angular glass edifice known as the Hall of Champions, Milo’s stomach was rumbling.
“I’m starving,” Lily said with a huff as the hall’s massive stone stairway came into view. “Did you guys bring your meal cards?”
“Oh, great,” Milo muttered. “I left mine in my bag.”
“It’s okay,” Lily said. “We’ll share. Come on.”
The Hall of Champions took up three floors and hummed with activity. An open, central corridor allowed a view of the various levels as soon as you stepped inside. Each level was crammed with tables full of students. Thanks to the glass walls, the place was filled with natural light.
Milo read on a standing menu near the entrance that each level catered to a different type of meal card. You could eat hot, greasy food on level one—for first and second years, who had no dietary restrictions—mostly vegetarian cuisine on level two—for third and fourth years, who were forced to stick to a special diet for enhanced mental functioning—and plain, military-style rations on level three—for fifth and sixth years who had to get used to the kind of crude nourishment one ate during times of war.
Access to each level was determined by one’s meal card. Patrolling officers in uniform made sure there was no bartering going on between cadets of different classes. Milo grabbed a tray and followed a line of students through the restaurant area to select from a buffet of different options. He was certain the food at Ascher’s ranch had been better, but those had been home-cooked meals. And yet he couldn’t complain. The variety one could sample on the first level was more than enough. He settled on a cheesy pasta dish decorated with strips of grilled steak.
At the checkout area, a woman wearing too much lipstick and a hairnet chewed gum while she watched Lily pass her meal card beneath a scanner. It beeped and turned green, allowing Lily to move through. Milo realized with a pang of self-loathing that he had not only forgotten his card but had also overlooked the signs proclaiming that sharing one’s meal card was not allowed.
Lily must have been oblivious to the signs all around her.
“He’s with me,” she said.
“Nuh-uh, nectar,” the woman at the checkout said. “Doesn’t work that way.”
“It’s my first day,” Milo said, hating himself for lying. “They haven’t even given me my card yet. I think it’s still in the mail.”
The woman was about to protest when it apparently dawned on her that Mil
o was no regular student.
“Hey, wait a minute. Aren’t you that boy from Taradyn they kept mentioning on the news a few months back? The son of Maximus and Zandra?”
“That’s me,” Milo said with a confident nod. “And there’s my sister over there.”
He pointed at Emma, who was busy scooping portions out of the salad bar. The woman’s eyes widened even more, and Milo noticed she wasn’t the only one staring. Many of the students standing in line behind Emma were visibly aware of her golden wings, some wearing frowns as they whispered to their friends about it.
“Hey,” a kid shouted from the back of the line, “quit holding us up.”
The woman scowled at him, then winked at Milo.
“You get a free pass for today, cadet. Thanks for your service.”
“Thank you,” Milo said, blushing. He read her nametag and said, “Have a good day, Marna.”
Beaming, the woman watched him and Lily proceed to the tables.
“The perks of being famous,” Lily said. “I hope we don’t get too spoiled.”
Milo kept quiet. He had lied to the lady, and the thought of it made him uncomfortable—especially with the way she had thanked him for his service, as though he were already a veteran of war. What would his father think of him now?
At one of the tables against the glass wall, Emma and Barrel sat leaning inward above their salads in serious conversation. Owen and Gunner gobbled their food as if they were in a hurry to be off somewhere. Gunner gave Milo a thumbs-up when he saw his pasta dish.
“Good choice,” he said and popped a red ravioli into his mouth. He chewed and exhaled a stream of red mist that smelled spicy and peppery.
Owen bit into something resembling a taco made of glistening, dark-green leaves that appeared to be full of ground meat. “Can’t get Tickbear burritos on Taradyn,” he said around a mouthful. “I’m in heaven.”
“Hey, where’s Sevarin?” Gunner asked. His face was pink and sweaty from the spicy raviolis. “And Oscar?”
Milo explained what he knew.
“I’m sure Oscar will be fine,” Barrel said. “Emmanuel will find some way to get him in. With all that money, he could probably buy the academy a new chapel or some such thing.”
“Wait, there’s Sev,” Emma said, pointing at the front entrance.
Milo was baffled by his friend’s appearance. Sevarin’s uniform was dry now but even dirtier than before. Covered in twigs and leaves, it looked as if he’d been climbing trees for the past hour. His boots left a trail of dirt on the polished floor. Cadets stared at him as he walked by, but he didn’t seem to notice. He looked concerned as he approached the table.
Emma looked appalled at the sight of him.
“Did you cut down a tree?” she asked.
Sevarin frowned at her. “I was playing soccer with a few kids over in one of the fields.”
“You can’t be serious,” Milo said. “That’s the same excuse you used an hour ago.”
“An hour ago?” Emma said. She looked both hurt and angry as she stared up at Sevarin. “You skipped class, didn’t you? And on our first day? How could you?”
“Hey, now,” Sevarin said, raising his palms at her. “I went to the first two, okay? Give me a break. Besides, we’ve missed half the semester already. What’s another day gonna matter?”
“You just don’t get it,” Emma said, rising from her seat. “We’re here for a reason, not to have a party and be all cool and say, ‘hey, let’s go play sports when we should be in class.’ My parents died so we could be here.”
Milo’s appetite vanished, replaced by a tightening sensation in his gut. “Emma, stop. This isn’t the place or the time.”
She shook her head and sat back down.
“It’s okay,” Barrel said, placing a hand on her arm. “He didn’t mean to upset you by it. He’s just being Sevarin.”
“Fine. When he gets kicked out of school, he can go be Sevarin someplace else.”
Sevarin blinked as if Emma had just slapped him across the face with a plank of wood. At a nearby table, a gathering of second-years had twisted around in their seats to get a better look at the unfolding drama. Milo was certain Sevarin would make some joke about the situation and brush it off.
Instead he turned, shoulders puffed up, and strode out of the cafeteria.
“I don’t believe him,” Emma said. “He told me earlier he was thinking about skipping, and I made him promise he wouldn’t. He promised me.”
“What’s the big deal?” Owen asked her. “He’s right about us missing the first half of the semester. Maybe he just needs a little extra time to get his head on straight.”
Emma looked pleadingly at her brother. “Milo, you’re his roommate. Can you make sure he doesn’t flunk out?”
Milo wanted to reassure her that everything would be okay, but Emma’s words from earlier swirled like a mini-tornado inside his head.
My parents died so we could be here.
“You’re right,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Emma looked confused.
“About Mom and Dad. They died so we could be here. Not so we could cheat, or lie, or go to parties, but to be examples other people could follow.”
“Milo, what are you trying to say?” Lily asked him.
Instead of answering, Milo rose out of his seat, making sure to grab his tray.
“I lied to Marna. I lied to the check-out lady about my meal card, and I’m going to apologize and tell her to put this food in the refrigerator until I come back with my own card and do it right.”
“You’re insane,” Emma said, smiling a little.
“Nope. I’m in military school, and I’m going to act like it.”
As he crossed the central seating area toward the registers, he caught sight of a group of cadets descending the stairs from the upper levels—faces he recognized at once.
One of them was Garig, his orange hair and short stature making him stand out from the pack. This time, however, he wasn’t the one in charge. Kellan, the Archon’s son, had taken the lead.
They were about to cross Milo’s path on their way toward the exit. He tightened his grip on his tray. If Garig saw him, he might pick a fight. Sevarin wasn’t here to defend him this time, either.
As he thought about turning back, a strange gripping sensation took hold of his brain.
Not again.
His entire body tensed at a sudden feeling of being invaded by an alien presence. His eyes ceased to be his own. Instead, they became windows through which this foreign intelligence viewed the world.
Viewed the world and despised it.
His legs were no longer his. They strode forward as if on a mission of their own. The tangy, cheesy aroma of his uneaten pasta dish filled his nose, and suddenly, terror spiking within him, he knew what would happen next.
He lifted the tray above his head and tossed it at Kellan and his friends.
Time seemed to slow. Milo watched with unusual clarity as the plate bounced off Garig’s shoulder, causing the cadet’s freckled face to turn away and his arms to spring defensively around his head.
The pasta came next, landing with a heavy splash on the one person Milo hoped it wouldn’t touch. Kellan raised his arms at the last second, but they did little to fend off the explosion of cheese, meat, and pasta strands that left him looking like a soldier covered in steaming human guts after a bloody fight.
The Hall of Champions fell silent. Milo tried to voice an apology, but all his lips could do was squirm uselessly against his teeth.
Rage twisted Kellan’s face. Covered in tomato sauce, his movie-star good looks were now a mask of bloody savagery.
A moment later, Milo slipped back into his own body the way a hand enters a familiar glove. Only the glove felt different now, as if it were missing a finger. The change was in his eyes. Milo’s vision wasn’t the same. Not at all.
Milo knew a single punch from Garig could turn his skull into a red mess, much like the pasta he ha
d launched at Kellan. But half blind, he watched helplessly as Garig lunged toward him, fist raised.
After everything he and his family had been through, for it to come to this…
Garig was a heartbeat away when something rammed into Milo’s side. He slid across the floor, pinned beneath a suffocating weight.
“You moron,” Sevarin shouted down at him. “Let’s get out of here!”
Sevarin yanked Milo to his feet as cadets everywhere began clamoring for a fight. Sevarin pulled a dazed Milo toward the exit, and then all Milo could do was run for his life.
They were all the way down the hill when Sevarin stopped suddenly. No one else had emerged from the building. Milo doubled over his knees, pulling deep breaths that smelled faintly like tomato sauce. He realized he was covered in flecks that had splashed back onto him.
“What the hell happened back there?” Sevarin asked. “Did one of them say something to you?”
Milo was too distraught to form words. All he could do was stare down at the ground, opening and closing first one eye and then the other.
“Hey, are you okay, pal?” Sevarin approached hesitantly. “What happened to you?”
“I—I don’t know what happened,” Milo said, struggling to speak as panic washed coldly over his body. “Something’s wrong. I mean really wrong.”
He looked at his friend. Whatever Sevarin saw on Milo’s face frightened him. He recoiled at the sight.
“What’s wrong?” Milo asked him, desperately. “What is it?”
Shocked into silence, Sevarin made eye contact with Milo in a way that seemed oddly indirect, as if their lines of sight weren’t actually crossing. He was staring at one of Milo’s eyes—the one that couldn’t stare back. The one that had gone completely dark.
“It’s all white,” Sevarin said. “Holy crap. We need to find your uncle, like right now.”
CHAPTER 27
K ovax frowned at the tiny, semi-transparent mage floating above the console. An urge came over him to reach out and scatter the apparition, not that it would do much good.
“My apologies for making you wait, my lord,” Xanthus said, adjusting his glasses.
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