by M. A. Larson
“Tarburn’s Keep? Bloody hell, that’s right across the bay!” said Anisette.
“We haven’t had any in Sevigny yet, Fates be praised,” added Maggie.
Evie was still trying to puzzle out why anyone would want to paint witches’ eyes on the ceiling when she heard someone making a snorting sound behind her. Malora smirked as she and her friends passed by. Kelbra laughed, and Evie’s face went red. She followed the crowd through the archways at the far side of the rotunda, yet still somehow felt completely alone.
There, House Princesses directed the cadets to their assigned benches. The Royal Hall was an enormous rectangle of flint walls and stone dressings. Two immense hearths provided both light and heat. Giant purple banners bearing the Pennyroyal coat of arms rolled from the ceiling beneath sprouted pillars. In the front of the hall stood a raised dais lined with thrones. Behind the dais, a massive painting depicted war-weary princesses mounting the stairs to a ruined castle.
“Why do all the princesses look so . . . ragged?” said Evie with a frown as she sat on the wooden bench. But Maggie didn’t hear the question. She was deep in conversation with Basil, the boy from the coach, who wore a tunic of Ironbone blue, but with white linen breeches instead of a dress.
The staff entered and sat in the thrones. Evie recognized several of them from earlier in the day, including Rumpledshirtsleeves, who was flanked by two of his miniature assistants. The center throne, the largest and most opulent, remained empty. A footman blasted a fanfare on a bannered trumpet, and there was a great swoosh of fabric as everyone in the hall rose as one.
Evie struggled to see past the girl in front of her, a lanky cadet in the scarlet red of Goosegirl Company. She managed to find a small opening at the girl’s shoulder and saw Princess Beatrice sweeping across the dais in a billowing golden gown, a dramatic headpiece flaring from her white hair like the splash at the bottom of a waterfall. Her expression was severe, almost haunted.
Everyone sat, including the staff, leaving Beatrice the only one standing. The silence was remarkable. Even the fires seemed to hiss and pop just a bit more softly. She ran her eyes slowly over her cadets, and with one simple turn of the head, unnerved an entire chamber.
“We are at war.”
Beatrice delivered the words with such finality that no one dared move, not a breath could be heard. Evie suddenly felt so claustrophobic that she had to glance back at the archways to be sure they hadn’t been sealed shut.
“With a very dark force indeed. I have just received word that three more kingdoms have fallen to Calivigne and the Sisters. Hundschloss has been reduced to ash.”
Evie’s eyes flicked around the hall. She didn’t understand what any of this meant, but the grim reaction of the other cadets made the walls seem just a bit closer, the bench a bit more uncomfortable.
“Who’s Calivigne?” she whispered to Maggie. “What’s she talking about?”
Beatrice continued. “I understand that many of you, and many of your parents, have concerns regarding the Queen’s decision to admit cadets without pedigree.” She glared down at them, her expression revealing nothing about her own opinion. “First, if you feel it your place to question the Queen, you may do so from the comfort of your own homes. She is our Supreme Commander, and to question her is a treasonous act. Second, many of you no doubt have false ideas of what it means to be a Princess of the Shield. You came because you were attracted to the majesty and glamour of life with a crown and castle. You intend to serve your three years, then go forth beloved by all.” The clacking of her heels echoed off the walls. “You will be the first ones discharged, no matter your blood.”
Evie caught a glimpse of Malora, who shook her head with disgust.
“A Princess of the Shield is courageous. She is compassionate. She is kind, and she is disciplined. Without these four core values, a girl may have all the crowns and castles she wants, but she will no more be a princess than she will a dragon.
“You must prepare for battle as any soldier would, though yours are not the weapons of the soldier. Your weapons are pure hearts and steel spines. Your weapons are already inside you. And the only way to wield them is to know yourself. Which is precisely what we will teach you here.”
A wave pulsed through Evie’s brain, and she thought for a moment she was about to lose consciousness. Some deeply buried instinct had been triggered. A warning. She’s about to say something I won’t be able to un-hear.
“Three more kingdoms fell this day. Three fine and noble kingdoms full of history and culture and innocent citizens.” Beatrice folded her hands behind her back, slowly patrolling the dais. “The forces of evil are on the ascent, of that there can be no doubt. We need you, ladies, to embrace your training and join the fight. You,” she said, pausing for emphasis, “are the only thing preventing Calivigne and her army of wicked witches from spreading misery and death across all the land.”
Wicked witches. Suddenly, the little clues that had been niggling at Evie since she’d first arrived clicked into place. The mural . . . the stray comments of her friends . . . the Pennyroyal coat of arms . . . All of it pointed to one simple fact: to be a princess was to battle witches.
“As the year unfolds, you will notice that our Academy bears many similarities to the training camps of the world’s great armies. This is not an accident. Our distinguished founder, Princess Pennyroyal, developed this institution to engender the same precision, honor, and discipline found in any king’s army. She had seen countless kings train countless soldiers to battle other countless soldiers trained by other countless kings. She despised the endless parade of death and violence, but respected the integrity those camps infused into their soldiers. It was she who discovered that only a true princess could defeat a witch. It was she who trained the very first Princesses of the Shield. It was she who grew those virtues into an army of decency and kindness. An army of princesses.”
Evie stared at the red linen of the dress in front of her, trying to remain calm. She dabbed sweat from her forehead, though her skin felt cold and clammy to the touch.
“Some ask why, with the superior weaponry, training, and numbers of a king’s army, those forces can’t simply ride forth and rid the world of witches. There are countless fields of stone soldiers out there ready to provide the answer. We, ladies, we princesses alone, possess the weapons required for this fight.” A log dissolved in a hiss of ash. “This fight is bigger than you. It is bigger than me. It is bigger than any princess or knight who has ever graced these hallowed halls. This fight is about them.” She jutted her finger so emphatically that it encompassed every man, woman, and child in the world living in fear. “This fight is about all the innocent people across the land who will suffer without a Princess of the Shield to protect them.”
Her voice reverberated into silence. She walked back to her empty throne, but didn’t sit just yet.
“These are consequential times, ladies. And your war draws ever nearer.”
And with that, she took her seat. She looked exhausted, like she had aged ten years during her speech. Soft whispers began to work their way through the third-class cadets.
A hand touched Evie’s back, rubbing small circles between her shoulders. “All right, Evie? You look a bit pale.”
“I didn’t know we were meant to fight witches, Maggie,” she said, her hands trembling.
“What?” Maggie’s forehead creased in confusion. “But what did you think a princess—”
“Quiet, the lot of you!” sneered Liverwort. Silence returned to the hall. Beatrice gave her a slight nod, and she disappeared through the archway at the end of the dais. Evie put her head in her hands and tried to focus on Maggie’s rhythmic strokes.
A moment later, Liverwort reappeared to a chorus of horrified gasps. Evie glanced up and found her helping a huddled figure in a tattered cloak onto the dais. Gossamer-thin skin slacked from the sharp bones of he
r face. Her lips stretched tight over a chilling grin, and time had fused shut her eyes. The fires, roaring only moments before, died to glowing ash. One of Rumpledshirtsleeves’s assistants sprang to relight them as the ancient witch hobbled to the center of the dais on a cane of weathered bone.
The black stench of smoke, the pinpricks of gooseflesh . . . Evie was right back in that cottage in the woods. She was trapped. And she was certain she was about to die.
“Girls, please,” said Beatrice with annoyance. “There is nothing to fear from this witch. She is a dissident, a friend of the Academy. A friend to our cause.” The horrified voices muted back to silence, though an electric tension remained. “The intuitive powers of a witch can be quite useful when her motives are pure. She is here to do a reading, nothing more. This allows us to tailor our training and better prepare for the year. The only thing you must do is sit quietly and show a bit of respect.”
The blind witch mouthed a silent incantation. She lifted her cane and ran it slowly from one corner of the hall to the other. Evie flinched when it pointed at her.
“I see . . .” croaked the witch, the skin near the edges of her mouth flapping loosely. “The Queen has done quite well for herself . . .”
CRACK! Her cane slammed to the floor. The cadets—and some instructors—jumped.
“She is here! The Warrior Princess is here!”
“What?” hissed Beatrice as she sprang to her feet. “Are you quite sure?”
Around her, the dais erupted with activity. Several princesses dashed from the hall. Others scanned the cadets with great urgency. Tears welled in Hazelbranch’s eyes, though her expression contained more hope than fear. Rumpledshirtsleeves slumped back, his assistants fanning him.
“Indeed. She sits among them!”
“What’s she on about?” said Evie.
“It’s a fairy’s tale,” said Maggie, her face twisted in confusion. “About a highborn girl whose goodness is so powerful she rids the world of witches once and for all. But . . . it’s not meant to be true.”
“Heed me!” hissed the witch, training her cane on the staff. “You must instruct this class as any other. This Warrior Princess must succeed of her own merits. Should you allow the unfit to remain at your academy in an attempt to trick the Fates, the power of your Warrior Princess shall vanish, never to return again. Do not trifle with the Fates, for the Fates will trifle back!”
Princess Beatrice slumped into her throne and held her head in her hands. The witch turned her shriveled face back to the cadets with a dry cackle, then shuffled through the archway with Liverwort, leaving a stunned silence in her wake. Finally, Beatrice looked up, her face pale, as though she had just seen her own ghost.
“Well . . . isn’t this exciting news, indeed.”
The staff quickly cleared the hall and escorted the girls back to their barracks, where the night’s tensions evaporated into the stars. Evie seemed to be the only one still troubled by the events of the Royal Hall. Enthusiasm rippled down the rows of bunks, topics shifting like birds in flight. The freedom! The grounds! The prophecy! The knights!
Evie remained on her bunk, legs crossed, biting her fingernails. Most of the girls were energized by the witch’s proclamation, the potential of one day being the Warrior Princess as fresh and untainted in each of them as new snow. But she had found the whole evening quite traumatic. She hadn’t spoken to anyone since leaving Pennyroyal Castle, trailing behind the others until finally they left her alone. And once they were inside, she went straight to her bunk.
“Oi! What’s all this moping?” said Anisette with a wink. “We ain’t even started the hard stuff yet!”
Evie responded with the weakest of smiles, and Anisette moved off to join some other girls in song. Finally, Princess Hazelbranch entered and raised her hands to appeal for quiet.
“I understand the first day at the Academy can be quite thrilling, girls, but the time has come for lights-out.”
A great communal groan went up, but the cadets started heading back to their bunks just the same. Still, nothing could squelch the excitement in the air.
“Why don’t I just . . . leave you to it,” said Basil, standing near the door looking uncomfortable. Hazelbranch had arranged a cot for him in a storehouse behind the barracks.
“If you please, Cadet Basil, there is one final order of company business. And you are very much a member of this company.”
“The prettiest!” shouted Anisette, to a flurry of laughter. Basil could only shake his head ruefully, though he couldn’t hide a smile.
“Now, before you can rightfully be considered . . .” Hazelbranch trailed off. Three girls from the far corner of the barracks, nearest the latrine, stepped away from their bunks as one. They huddled together, walking across the bearskins, their faces drawn and serious. “Is everything quite all right?”
“We’re sorry, Princess, but we . . . we want to go home.” One of the girls began to weep, burying her head in her friend’s shoulder.
“Girls?”
“We don’t want to be here anymore. This isn’t what we thought it would be.”
And suddenly the joyous atmosphere was punctured like a bubble in a bog. One cadet shouted for them to reconsider, but they had made their decision.
“Come, girls, come,” said Hazelbranch, beckoning them forward. “The three of you wait outside and I’ll see you to the castle.”
The girls shuffled past Basil, who stared at the floor with folded arms. Hazelbranch took a step forward and addressed the entire company. “Does anyone else wish to join them?” The Ironbone girls looked at one another, each hoping no one else would take the offer. “There is absolutely no shame in it. Some people simply aren’t equipped to battle witches.”
Evie ground her jaw back and forth. It was as though Hazelbranch were speaking directly to her. Go, she told herself. You’re only here because of some silly parchment, not to get in the middle of a war. Go. Now.
But she didn’t.
“Very well,” said Hazelbranch. “For the rest of you, I will now administer the Pennyroyal Academy oath. If you’ll all place your hands over your hearts, and after I’ve finished, say, ‘I swear it so.’”
Evie’s hand rose to her chest. It felt light and numb, as though it belonged to someone else. She turned to face the Pennyroyal coat of arms above the door, with its princess, knight, dragon, and witch.
“I promise to do my duty. To support and defend the free peoples of the world against all witches. I will practice Courage, Compassion, Kindness, and Discipline to the best of my ability, and will always endeavor to live a life of high moral character.”
No one spoke. It was as if they all—from Maggie to Malora—wanted to give the moment the reverence it deserved. Swearing the oath was a final step and a first step all in one. The journey toward princesshood would now begin, and each of them knew it.
“I swear it so,” they said in unison.
Evie, softly, and after everyone else, said, “I swear it so.”
“Congratulations,” said Hazelbranch with a smile. “You are now officially princess cadets, third class. You have just joined the ranks of the greatest princesses ever to live, and if that witch’s prophecy is correct, at least one of your year will someday be listed among them.”
The jubilant buzz slowly returned. Hazelbranch began working her way through the room, congratulating each of the girls.
Maggie turned to Evie with a smile. “We did it!”
Evie dropped to her bunk. A black cloud swirled through her head. Swearing the oath had sentenced her to face that which she had hoped to never encounter again.
Despite her overwhelming fatigue, she lay awake hours after the last torch had been snuffed. She stared outside as dull gray clouds spread from one corner of her window to another, slowly swallowing the white moonlight like a curtain being drawn.
What’s this? the witch in the cottage had said, eyes wide and hungry.
What’s this? speaking of Evie as though she were a piece of candy waiting to be devoured.
What’s this? said the witch.
What’s this?
“WHAT ARE YOU LOT STILL DOING IN BED? IT’S TIME FOR . . .”
In an instant, the pink sunset and crashing seawater of Evie’s dream became the dull gray of the barracks. She blinked herself back to consciousness, disoriented to wake somewhere other than the woods. And that’s when she saw the incensed face of the Fairy Drillsergeant looking straight at her.
“Bloody hell . . .”
The swish of bedsheets and tunic dresses, the clop of shoes on stone, everything stopped at once. The cadets followed their commander’s gaze across the room, where Evie squatted atop the footboard of her bunk. She scrambled to the floor, but it was too late. The Fairy Drillsergeant darted across the barracks.
“DID YOU SPEND THE ENTIRE NIGHT PERCHED UP THERE LIKE A MAGPIE?”
“I . . . I’m sorry, Fairy Drillsergeant.”
“Why?” said the Fairy Drillsergeant, shaking her head. “Why do I always get the bloody fopdoodles? I’d lay my wand there’s not a single cadet in Bramblestick Company who SLEPT ON THE END OF HER BUNK!”
Evie’s mouth quivered. Her eyes had begun to mist over, but she would not let herself cry. “Please, Fairy Drillsergeant . . . I didn’t mean to—”
“Looks like we can abandon the hunt for the Warrior Princess, everyone!” The Fairy Drillsergeant glared at Evie, but spoke loudly enough for the whole company to hear. “When this year ends, those of you still here will participate in a daylong challenge called the Helpless Maiden. The rules are simple. You either complete the challenge, or you’re not welcome back next year.”
Evie stole a glance at Maggie, who gave her a sympathetic smile. But this only made her feel worse. How much longer will she want to be friends with the company fool?
“One of every two of you will be dismissed before we even reach the Helpless Maiden.” The Fairy Drillsergeant turned, glaring at Evie with contempt. She flittered so close that Evie could hear the hum of her wings and the soft chime of sparkles. “So tell me, Cadet, how do you intend to last to the end of term when you can’t even SLEEP PROPERLY?”