“But she does.”
“Yeah, but you can’t say that. Girls won’t like you.”
“Abby doesn’t like me anyway,” Peter said.
“I do too!” I protested. “Sometimes.”
Peter was still staring at me. I looked away, down at my book, flipping the pages without really paying attention to what was on them and, without really planning to say anything, said, “I can’t sleep. It’s—it’s too quiet.”
Fred laughed. “It’s never quiet here. And you have your own room,” he insisted when I didn’t answer. The longing was palpable in his voice. “I’d kill for my own room. Not really,” he added to Peter.
“I am relieved,” Peter replied. “Don’t you three have homework to finish?”
That night as I was getting into bed, Peter knocked on the door. Now, lights-out means in your room until morning roll call, but Peter just shrugged when I told him that and closed the door behind him. He was in his pj’s and carrying a pillow. “Just as long as I’m back in my room for roll call,” he said. “It’s not like they can use magic to track us.”
“But Public Safety patrols the hallways.”
“But they don’t go in the rooms unless they hear something. Like us talking,” he finished in a whisper. He nodded to the spare bed. “You got extra sheets for this thing?”
I was still standing by the door. “You’re going to stay with me?”
He shrugged and sat down on the bare bed. It squeaked. That seemed to be answer enough. I was dimly aware that I was grinning like an idiot.
So I got out my extra sheets and we made up the other bed without talking. Then I got in my bed and he got in the other one, and we still didn’t talk, but I was grinning the whole time, grinning until my cheeks hurt.
Peter shook his head and smiled. “Okay. What?”
“We’re friends.”
The smile dropped away like a stone. “We’re not.”
“Yeah, we are. You like me.”
“I don’t.”
I rolled onto my stomach, tucking my pillow under me. “Then why’d you come here?” I teased.
“Pity.” There was light from the streetlamps through the windows, just enough to make his eyes gleam like a cat’s in the dark. “Maybe I’m just a nice person.”
“You’re not nice.”
“Goes to show how much you know. I’m the third-nicest person I know.”
“You punched Fred in the face this afternoon.” Granted, it was during Becky’s class, and mostly because Fred had been too busy trying to block Peter with humor to remember to block his face.
“I don’t like Fred either,” Peter tossed back. “He’s a fake.”
“He is not, he’s nice. And you’re just mean. That’s okay, though,” I reassured him, because at some point this teasing thing had become fun. “I’ll still be your friend.”
Peter sat up. “If you’re going to be this annoying, I’ll leave.”
“No, you won’t,” I said, swallowing my laughter.
Peter glared at me for a full minute before he sniffed and defiantly lay back down, pulling the covers up around his shoulders. I waited until the quiet seeped back in, until he’d feel safe, then whispered quickly, “It’s because we’re friends.”
He groaned and shoved the pillow over his head. “Abby! Go to sleep!”
With him there, I did.
CHAPTER
15
The Fall Festival was still a few weeks away, but Ms. Macartney roped several of the First Years into decorating the dining hall, stringing garlands and wreaths made out of pinecones and fallen leaves. Carving jack-o’-lanterns and setting up the remembrance table (as a treat for the souls who’d pass through on the hunt for good parties) was later on, not until the week before the fest. (Plus cutting pumpkins meant knives, and we weren’t allowed to handle anything like that until we were Third Years.)
Peter and Fred and I were pinning up garlands around the windows when the doors flung open and the rest of the school was herded in by the teachers. Ms. Macartney, if possible, went more tight-lipped and rigid than usual. Becky had that “straight as an arrow, walking on the balls of her feet” stance that she used for the really dangerous demonstrations. Even Mrs. Murphy looked more formal. Only Mr. O’Hara looked completely relaxed, but then, I couldn’t think of a time when he didn’t look completely relaxed.
“Everyone, please take a seat. Students, please sit with your own Year.” Mrs. Murphy’s voice rang out, loud and clear, above the scuffing footsteps and the low, edgy hum of chatter. “I know I can trust all of you to be on your very best behavior.”
Kids hurried to their places, and Mrs. Murphy stepped forward and cleared her throat to silence us. “We have just received word that His Majesty, King Stephen, and several members of his court will be gracing us with their esteemed presence tonight for an inspection.” She paused, waiting until the exclamations died down to a low buzz before she continued. “Here are the rules, which you will not under any circumstances break unless you want me to break you. One: you will not speak unless spoken to. Two: if you are spoken to, you will give a short, polite answer. Three: if you are speaking to our esteemed patron, His Royal Majesty, King Stephen, you will refer to him by his proper title, and with the proper amount of respect—so help me, Eric, you wipe that look off your face. The same goes for his court. Four: you will be on your best and most proper behavior tonight, and you will make them all believe that we know what we’re doing, or I will murder you. Do you understand?”
We understood.
She nodded. “Take this time to straighten yourselves up as best you can. Aprons off, laces tied. Girls with long hair, pin it up. Let’s pretend you really are well-behaved children.”
Mrs. Murphy and the other teachers talked quietly for a moment, then moved through the room just under marathon speed, tucking away half-hung decorations, making sure everything was orderly.
One of the older girls was showing us how to twist up our hair and pin it in place with a pencil when they arrived. It took my brain a moment to process what it was seeing. Spots on the walls, ceiling, and floor warped into faces, and ten—twenty—a lot of men in official-looking uniforms poured out, as if they simply stepped into being. It was like they were both part of bricks and separate from them. It was like those creatures in the Black Forest that splooge over their victims and absorb them whole.
One man dropped down from the ceiling and landed on our table. Frances gasped, and Fred and I started back in surprise. He stepped down off our table with an amused look on his face, like Gil when he played a trick on someone. But he was clearly a normal guy, and he never would have gotten into campus unless he was allowed in. And the only people the school was allowing in tonight were King Steve’s men. You didn’t have to be a Level Ten mage to figure out he was a Kingsman. Also, the uniform with the royal crest was a big clue.
Kingsmen aren’t just regular guards who stand watch over the castle. Kingsmen are special. It’s not just the training (with its rumored ninety-seven percent washout rate); they have to put themselves through experiments, push themselves to become something more. Kingsmen aren’t quite human, not anymore, and they go into it willingly and with eyes open. They sign away their lives to the throne, and it makes them really intense, and I think that’s why there are so many romance novels that feature them. (Like Married to a Kingsman or The Kingsman’s Secret Baby or Kissing the Kingsman, which is the best one, actually.)
The Kingsmen took their position all around the room, stiff and formal, and then the door opened. Alexa entered, her hair done up and wearing the royal colors. Following her were four or five people, in much more expensive outfits and elaborate hairstyles, who glanced over us and made sure to keep a wide berth. They had to be the king’s court. And then came two Kingsmen in more complicated uniforms, showy ones with heavy belts that had powerful magic stuck all over them.
And then came King Steve.
I recognized him from the papers. (H
e’s in there a lot and, besides, he was the one wearing a crown.) He didn’t look very much like his pictures. Oh, he looked enough like that you’d recognize him if you passed by him on the street. But he looked—geekier, if you can imagine. He was tall and lanky, with a long thin face; the papers didn’t catch how thin it was, or how ordinary. And he did look ordinary. He looked like anybody else, which kings really aren’t supposed to do. He glanced at Alexa as he entered, and smiled. It made him look human, and not one bit majestic. Then he went over to the teachers, received their bows and curtseys and welcome with a regal nod.
I have never, ever heard the dining hall that quiet, not before or since. Nobody moved. I’m not sure if anybody breathed. We all just sat there, quiet and still, as if we really were nice, obedient children.
King Steve spoke to Mrs. Murphy briefly—he had one of those rounded, clear voices, kind of like announcers on game shows but less annoying—then Mrs. Murphy stepped forward and said a few words. It was everything you’d expect a teacher to say if the king came: how glad we were that King Steve honored us with his presence, and how hard everyone worked to earn his patronage, and how we all wanted to show the king how much we deserved his trust.
Then she stepped back and King Steve stepped forward, and he said a few words. It was a lot of his usual stuff too. Mostly that he knew his faith and trust in us was justified, and that he was proud to serve us, and that we had to keep strong and keep going on—that kind of thing. “We hold no illusions as to what life is like for an ord,” he concluded, “even, unfortunately, in our kingdom. We hope that this place will provide a measure of comfort, safety, and support for you all.”
Mrs. Murphy thanked him, and I thought that they were going to talk to us—ask us how we were doing, or if we liked the school. Maybe even ask for a demonstration of what we had learned so far. But King Steve and his council left then, with the teachers and Alexa and about half of the Kingsmen, for a tour of the school. It took a while, and all during that time we had to sit quietly and not move. At one point I could see them through the windows, slowly circling the courtyard, testing all the bars on the windows and the locks on the doors.
When they finally returned, there were a couple more talks. King Steve thanked us for our hospitality, and Mrs. Murphy thanked him for stopping by, and then Mrs. Murphy excused all the students except us First Years, because there was still decorating to do. King Steve stood by the door smiling at the students as they passed, while Alexa stopped everyone to shake hands and say a few words. Then he and Alexa said good-bye to the teachers. I climbed up on my chair to wave to Alexa, but she signaled for me to follow. I glanced at Mrs. Murphy, but she nodded and I ran after my sister.
Alexa was waiting for me by the door. She slung an arm around my shoulders and leaned down to whisper, “Best behavior.”
“I’m always on my best behavior,” I protested.
“I’m serious, Abby.”
“You’re always serious.”
She shook her head and led me out to the courtyard, where King Steve was waiting. The court was gone, and most of the Kingsmen too. But King Steve was there—waiting for us.
Alexa had to more or less push me toward him. “This is Abby.”
I curtseyed as best I could. “Your Majesty.”
He held out a hand and, surprised, I shook it. (The Kingsmen inched forward at that, and King Steve gave them all a smile, like hey, just friends here, with a touch of I’m your boss, and a little so relax.) “Hello, Abby. Alexa talks about you non-stop.”
“Just the bad stuff,” Alexa reassured me.
“Okay,” I squeaked. Not my cleverest response, but I was still trying to process that I was really standing there chatting with King Steve. Really.
“How do you like the school?” King Steve asked.
Tell him it’s nice, my brain commanded. “It’s nice.”
“Nice,” King Steve echoed.
“Yes.” I glanced at Alexa, who was looking at me with the “you can do better than that” look. Okay, if they wanted more … “And it’s tough. And weird. It’s not even like a real school at all. I mean, we do have regular classes, like history, and I’m going to be honest, I’m sure your great-grandparents were nice people and all, but I have no idea why we have to learn what year they came to the throne—”
“They were horrible people,” King Steve corrected me, his eyes bright.
“Oh. And it’s scary,” I continued, encouraged. He wasn’t smiling, but I heard it in his voice.
“Yes, they were.”
“No, I mean the school. And just being an ord. I didn’t even know how scary until I came here. Three nights so far they made us sleep in the lounge because there were red caps watching the building, but I’m sure Alexa told you that because she says her job is to tell you everything. And Becky’s teaching us about ward stones but it’s mostly recognizing magic and it’s a lot of research but apparently people are actually going to pay us to do that when we get older, like real money, like give us jobs, and—they know I can see them, right?” I glanced around at the Kingsmen, but they were maintaining an air of professional detachment. And invisibility—the blurry, fudged lines around them were unmistakable. “We all can, we’re ords. Why go invisible at an ord school?”
King Steve glanced at Alexa and then smiled, a quick, genuine flash. “To show off. Kingsmen are terribly conceited, you know. It’s in the job description.”
One of the Kingsmen cleared his throat. I wondered if that was weird for other people, normal people, who couldn’t see them, who’d just hear a cough come out of nowhere.
“Alexa tells me,” King Steve continued as if no one had cleared anything, “that you had a very close call this summer. A pair of adventurers who harassed you and your classmates.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I would have liked to have some private conversation with them, but it seems they have disappeared. Pity, but I have let it be known that I’d very much like to meet them, whenever they turn up.”
“You think they’re going to turn up?” I asked.
“They might. Alexa tells me they were rather desperate for an ord, and where better to find one than—” He gestured to the school. “I think it wise for you and your classmates to keep close to the school.”
“That’s not a problem. They don’t ever let us out.” Although Alexa had promised to get me special permission to escape during Fall Fest.
A Kingsman spoke up. “Your Majesty.”
“Our cue,” King Steve said. “And yours, Miss Hale,” he said to Alexa. He held out his hand again, and I shook it. “You must come to the castle sometime and take tea with us. We should be glad to know you better.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“We are always serious, Miss Abigail. It is the primary defect in our character. Pleasure meeting you.”
I curtseyed again, a little better this time. “Really nice to meet you, Your Majesty.”
“Let me walk her back in, Your Majesty,” Alexa said, and aimed me toward the dining hall.
King Steve put a hand on her arm. “That pleasure must be mine.” And he took my hand and led me to the door, like a gentleman leading a lady out of a dance. The Kingsmen crept close enough to practically meld into my dress, but King Steve ignored them, so I did too. Alexa tagged along next to me, and King Steve watched with this funny little look on his face, when she scooped me up for a hug and kiss good night. And they left.
“What was that?” Fred burst out the second I walked in.
“Oh, you know,” I said, flipping my hair over my shoulders. “Just chatting with King Steve. He asked me about school and everything. He even invited me to tea.”
Peter chucked an apron at me. “You are so full of it, Hale.”
CHAPTER
16
Fall Fest in the city is sunshine, mellow as butter, and leaves in a dozen shades of gold and orange swirling through the air. It’s the smell of cinnamon and apples and roasting meat m
ixing with the cool, clean fall air. It’s jack-o’-lanterns clustered in shop windows and piled up by the doorways, and trailing along down the streets so the flickering lights can lead you to the party. It’s people dressed like fire, in shimmery, gauzy skirts and beaded vests, and jingly belts dripping with gleaming gold charms.
I’d been to the Fall Fest in Rothermere once before, when I was six, and I mostly remember how loud and huge everything seemed. Somebody (popular vote had it as Mrs. Murphy) realized that keeping us locked up when there was a huge party going on right at our doorstep constituted cruel and unusual punishment, so the school was actually letting us outside. Though for safety purposes we had to be in groups, those groups had to have grown-ups in them, and we had to wear our school colors.
Apparently there was an ongoing debate whether or not we Greens should be required to wear our greens at official stuff—outside the school, that is. The pro side said it was a scary world out there for an ord, and wearing official colors made it easier for everyone to keep an eye on us. The con side said, yes, that was the problem. See, until King Steve came to the throne half a dozen years ago and made it not okay to buy and sell children just because they couldn’t do magic, Rothermere had been the place to buy and sell ords. Becky (and Alexa and Mrs. Murphy and just about everyone else in the school) had warned us repeatedly that it took some people a while to get the message. There weren’t any sales, at least not obvious ones, but some people still came looking, and bright green tends to stick out.
But the totally awesome part was that my whole family was coming up. I mean, I knew they were going to for weeks now, because it was a planned event, but the closer it got the more exciting it became. I hadn’t seen anyone, except Alexa, live and in person since school started. We were even going to celebrate Alexa’s birthday. It’d be a week early, but we’d all be together, which Mom said was more important than timing. The excitement made it hard to keep still—well, everywhere except Ms. Macartney’s class, because she didn’t care if your leg was being chewed off by a red cap, you were going to sit still and be quiet. I didn’t even care that the whispers of family and parents started up again, loud enough that they weren’t actually whispers.
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