by Sever Bronny
Augum thought of that creepy woman and wondered if she cared more about the scions or the attempted murder. Something told him it was the former. He shrugged. “Maybe it’ll get them all off our damn backs.”
“Hey!” Jez snapped. She stopped and glared at him, Bridget still limp under her arm.
He raised his brows. “What?”
“When’d you get so crude, huh? Look at me. What’s with you?”
“What? What do you want from me?” He wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation from someone meant to have his back.
“Crushing desks. Slamming doors in people’s faces. Using crude language. You’re a prince. A prince, Augum.” She gave him a meaningful look. When he did not reply, she added, “How about you try acting like one, hmm?”
“Why are you on my back so much of late? Okay, fine, I haven’t been dealing with things perfectly, all right? I’m sorry for not fitting into the stupid mold they constructed in the heralds. I’m sorry for not living up to those ridiculous songs and poems. I’m sorry for failing the castle and you and Bridget and Cobb and the nobles and the kingdom and—” He stopped and rubbed his eyes. “I … I didn’t mean to snap at you. I apologize. Truly.”
Jez sighed. “All right, all right, monkey. I just want you to be happy and to push yourselves. You’re my apprentices—err, initiates.” She gave Bridget a light jiggle. “Truth is, I miss you three. You’ve been busy. I’ve hardly had as much quality training time with you, and I feel guilty for, you know …”
“For our failing grades?” Leera asked. “That’s not quite your fault.”
“I know it isn’t.” She gave Leera a meaningful look as well. “Speaking of, missy. Do I need to say anything about those grades?”
“No, Mother.”
“Exactly. I’m not your mother. But you damn well know you need one.”
“An excellent example you do set,” Augum said, annoyed at her hypocrisy with cursing.
“I’m not royalty who saved the kingdom. I’m a rebel who’s drunk practically half the time. I’m not the one you should look to as an example.”
“No, you’re only our mentor.” But Augum again hadn’t meant to sound so spiteful and raised his hand apologetically.
Jez playfully slapped his hand aside. “It’s fine. You’re under a lot of pressure. I get it, I do. I shouldn’t expect my monkeys to be perfect.” Then she shoved Bridget—who yelped—through the portal to the Student Wing before stepping through herself.
Leera glanced over. “Just admit it, you miss her.”
Instead of replying, Augum dropped the sack and yanked on her sleeve, stealing her into his arms. Then he gave her a gentle kiss on her soft lips while cradling her neck with his other hand. He ignored the cheap catcalls and whistles.
“Whoa, hi,” she said, brushing raven hair away from her freckled cheeks.
“Been meaning to do that all day,” he said. “I do miss her, but I miss you more.” And by that he meant spending quiet time together.
“Miss you too.” She glanced past him. “Uh, people are watch—” But he cut her off by shoving her into the portal. Then he telekinetically grabbed the sack and followed.
She punched his shoulder on the other side. “Jerk.” Nonetheless, she allowed him to draw her close while the sack floated beside them.
“Nothing like the threat of death to appreciate what you got, eh?” Jez said with a roguish grin. “Oh, and before I forget, Haroun and I picked out a gift for you to give to the king after the coronation, Augum. You remember your studies about the customs involved?”
“I’m to present it at the gift-giving portion of the banquet, before the sword ceremony,” Augum said in bored tones, recalling the tedious academy lessons on coronation and all the fancy ceremonies that came with it.
“The gift is a classic Solian puzzle, and it’s part arcane and part mechanical—and don’t ask how much it cost. Just don’t forget to study it before you present it or you’ll look like a fool trying to make it work. I gave it to Bridget to hold for you. Also, old Haroun and I paid an arcaneologist a handsome sum to research that dagger as well as all the other clues, including the gestures they used to block your Telekinesis. Mention of the gesture managed to raise an eyebrow from the old fogey.”
“How long will it take for him to come up with something?” Leera asked.
Jez shrugged. “I asked him that. He said, ‘As long as it takes,’ and then gave me a look like I was stupid. Which, of course, means I’ll be knocking on his window every hour on the hour day and night. Poor fool.” She drummed a flourish on Bridget’s limp shoulder with her index fingers. “I jest, I jest. I won’t really do that. Only a few times a day will do. I’m not sacrificing private wine time for some old gas bag.”
She glanced around at the gray stone blocks of the castle-like Student Wing. “Gods, how I do love this place. Those ragged tapestries, even that musty smell—” She inhaled deeply. “It all reminds me of stern teachers and yellowed scrolls and countless tedious hours of study. Don’t look at me like that. I actually did study, you know. Yeah, so many great memories. Though if I was being completely honest, they’re mostly of chasing boys and breaking rules in all sorts of clever ways. Do you three break the rules or do fun stuff? Do teenagers even have ‘fun’ anymore, or is your lot all about studying for fear of that dreaded whip?” She flicked her wrist to accentuate the point while giving the trio a sidelong look. “I know sarcasm never goes out of style with you lot. What about parties? Do you party? Ever been to one? And Endyear feasts don’t count. Wait, let’s go simpler. Do you even know what a party is?” She expelled an exaggerated breath. “Will you three please clam up, I can’t think with all that rambling!”
“Been a tough day, Jez,” Augum mumbled.
“As tough as your championship round in the arena?”
“Well, no, but—”
“As tough as plundering the depths under Bahbell?”
“Of course not, but—”
“As tough as facing the Lord of the Legion?”
“Obviously not, but—”
“Then you can shut your royal face, Your Highness.”
Augum couldn’t help but smile.
“Ah, there’s what I’ve been looking for. It’s good to know that just because you’re desperately trying to be a cool, surly teenager who’s the victim of unfathomable unfairness doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten how to smile. That’s my boy! Hey, don’t you roll your eyes at me!” But she too was smiling.
Jez made an irritated shake of her hand at a group of students ahead. “Gods, will you look at that line. Come on, we’re finding you an abandoned room to get changed in.”
They strode by a long line of annoyed students, all waiting to get changed in a bathing room. Students elbowed each other and pointed as they passed. Whispers about scions and assassins abounded. Augum playfully hovered the sack over their heads. Students ducked, and some yelped in surprise. A few tried to latch onto it telekinetically, but his iron Telekinesis guided it along smoothly.
“All right, tell me one good thing that happened today,” Jez said. “Come on, something remotely nice must have occurred to you unfortunate donkeys, and don’t spare me the details either.”
This time it was Leera’s turn to smile as she recounted their epic mock battle against the vile Southguards, and how Augum’s brilliant plan had won the day, along with her and Bridget’s expert field communication. She spared no detail, not even Southguard’s tooth.
“And Laudine said the entire school will find out about that little nugget of detail when she finishes writing a song about the battle,” Leera finished with a proud glow to her cheeks.
They stepped into an abandoned classroom, where Augum dispersed their clothes from the sack.
“Oh, come on,” Leera said, holding up a stuffy dress brimming with yellow ruffles. “Yellow? Yellow? I’ll look like a banana!”
“Only if you slouch,” Jez said.
Augum, making his way to an old
standing blackboard to change behind, snorted.
“Trade with me,” he heard Leera say to Bridget, followed by the sharp sound of cloth being jerked out of a hand.
Augum’s attire was the classic princely blue court hose, with a wide-shouldered tunic complete with what looked like a hastily embroidered Arinthian crest.
“You like it, Stone?” Jez asked as he changed into it. “Had both of your Keepers of the Robe slaving away on it all day.”
“It’s, uh, interesting.”
“Yeah, well, we both know they’re not exactly qualified. But then, we can’t afford qualified, can we? All right, make an appearance, will you? The ladies are dying to—oh good heavens have mercy!” she crooned when he stepped out to present himself, clutching her chest with one hand. “You done turned me into a country gal with that … creature of a thing.”
The girls’ reactions weren’t much better as each had covered their mouths.
“Gods, that’s … revolting,” Leera said through her hand. “It’s, like, twelve centuries out of style.”
Jez gave her a light smack on the arm. “What have I said about using that word?”
“What, revolting?”
“No, the word ‘like.’ You’re not daft cool, you’re hero cool. Act like it.”
Augum returned fire. “And you two look like fruits that belong in a basket. Lemon and strawberry.”
Leera gave a clumsy curtsy in her crimson square-neckline dress while Bridget forced a fake smile, the yellow glaring on her like the sun. But she was at least presentable as her dress fit her, whereas Leera’s looked too big and was made frumpier by her perpetual slouch.
“Yeah, all right, these are a disaster,” Jez said. “How do you feel about burlap? I’m sure we can find some potato sacks in the dining hall kitchen.”
“At least you look good,” Leera muttered, picking at a pleat on Jez’s cream dress.
Jez glanced down at herself. “Are you kidding? This thing is just as revolting. I look like bad upholstery! How am I supposed to catch the eye of a noble with it?”
Leera shrugged. “Turn into a chair?”
Jez pointed at her. “You monkey. I’ve taught you well.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll catch eyes,” Leera said, raising a curved pinky while jutting out her nose. “Maybe you can take some stuffy lordling home.”
“Lordlings tend to dislike my brazen manner.”
“They dislike our manners too,” Leera muttered. “Well, except for Bridge here, who’s loved by all.” She elbowed her.
Bridget glanced up. “Hmm?”
“Will you pay attention! We’re verbally jousting over here.”
“Oh. Right …” But Bridget remained distracted.
Leera shook her head before turning back to Jez. “Can’t we just wear our amber robes?”
“For an Occupation Ceremony? Are you mad? It’d be an insult, and we all know we don’t need more insults flung at the snobs. It’s tradition to dress up.”
Leera expelled a long breath through sputtering lips.
A deep gong sounded through the room.
“That’s the bell. We’ll be late if we don’t move it,” Jez said, waving them on. “Come on, jackals, get your satchels and go. Git!”
Augum stuffed his amber robe into his satchel as they hurried out of the classroom.
“Hope you wrote a good speech for your declaration, Stone,” Jez said.
Augum’s heart jammed into his throat. Unnameables, in all the fuss, he had completely forgotten.
They hurried through the Student Wing to the Grand Theater. Augum grabbed at words in his brain he thought might be appropriate, but it was like trying to fit together a puzzle with pieces that had blurry edges. Should he address everything that had happened? Make some sort of formal statement?
The gilded double doors were open, and a student council attendant was welcoming everyone with proper curtsies. When she spotted the trio, her eyes widened.
“Your Highnesses,” she stuttered as she curtsied, stealing glances at the girls’ attire.
They inclined their heads as they passed.
Leera adjusted her dress. “Gods, this thing is uncomfortable. It makes me feel old and ugly.”
“Give it time, Jones, you’ll get there,” Jez said as they walked down the dim aisle. “And stop fidgeting. You’re like a kid anxious to go outside and play.”
“Yeah, well, I’d take mucking about in a sandbox over this,” Leera muttered.
Massive iron candelabras hung from the truss ceiling, lit with dim arcane lamps. Tapestries of plays, both ancient and contemporary, lined the stone walls, and banners of acting troupes from all the kingdoms hung from the ceiling, winners of theatrical competitions of ages past. The stage was large and made of cherrywood planks. A huge red velvet curtain hung behind a fine mahogany lectern, on the front of which was the academy crest.
Nowhere was the class divide more apparent than in the Grand Theater, where the fancifully dressed rich noble families sat in ornate crimson-padded seats in the front, and the poor families in threadbare rags sat in the back on wooden benches, where the light was dimmest.
Augum had always assumed the academy ideal was equality among all classes, only to have experienced quite the rude awakening upon seeing the stark divide in this theater on his first visit. Soon after, he learned how some students had to fight tooth and nail for scholarships, how other families sold their homes and everything they owned so their son or daughter could attend the prestigious and pricey institution, and how the nobles went out of their way to keep the academy as clean as possible from “the rabble.” Even some of his friends showed some of that thinking, for they had been born into wealth and privilege, with clean sheets and full bellies and servants at their beck and call.
But Augum had grown up amongst the rabble. Labeled a gutterborn, he would not have even been allowed to step foot into this grand place, let alone allowed to sit in the front. Some days, he counted himself lucky to have ever met Bridget and Leera at all. Other days, he wondered what life would have been like had he stayed on his foster family’s farm as a slave. The honest answer was that he’d probably be dead.
He took solace in knowing he had been lucky to escape slavery, but that did not mean he would feel at home stepping on those less fortunate than him. That did not mean he would take advantage of them, or tax them to death, or bleed their labors dry for his gain. And it certainly did not mean he had to support nobles in their quest to do those very things. That was part of the reason he had not backed a family for the throne, for it would have sent the signal that he was comfortable with their exploitation of those beneath them. He didn’t have an answer for how to make the system fair—he wasn’t that politically inclined—he only knew it was wretchedly broken and cruel.
Stupidly, he had thought that by vanquishing the Lord of the Legion all oppression would miraculously vanish. But the kingdom thrived on exploitation. Mines, farms, back-breaking labor. And then there was the fact that a precious few could become warlocks, as if the gods were against everyone else.
“Life is unfair. The sooner you get used to it, the better,” Sir Westwood, the deceased knight Augum had squired under, always used to say. The man had even turned a blind eye to the bullying and beatings Augum had suffered. “It’ll make a man of you yet, Augum. Yes it will.”
But those beatings had left a mark of resentment that manifested in Augum in flashes of temper. There were some benefits though—a sense of compassion and fair play and justice. Though perhaps that had been the old knight’s plan all along …
The stench of flowery perfumes hit Augum’s nostrils, bringing him back to the present. Jez had herded them all the way to the front row, where only the highest tier of nobility sat. A moment of panic almost had Augum reaching out to her. How dare they presume so! But then he realized she was only doing her duty. Princes and princesses were expected to sit this far forward. Besides, even if they had not been granted honorary royal titles,
they were still considered heroes of the kingdom and expected to sit this far up.
Jez subtly gestured for them to sit. Augum knew enough about etiquette to allow the girls to take their places first, but he had a horrible feeling that every single eyeball in the place could see right through him, a gutterborn imposter playing prince. When he glanced around, his fear was instantly confirmed. The noble families of the students, both Ordinary and not, with their fancy dresses and wigs and jewelry and powdered faces, were almost all staring at him. Some were even glaring. Many whispered amongst themselves. Some hid behind fans they held with dainty hands, even though it was cool in the theater.
He took his place beside Leera. Jez sat down on his other side.
“You hear that?” Jez whispered, a hint of a smile on her face. “After that sleazy piece in the heralds, the fiends were looking forward to seeing you hobble in from your whipping. Instead, here you are, walking proud and strong as the kingdom hero you are.” She made a small derisive snort.
Augum was again grateful to Jengo for healing his back, though wondered if he appeared arrogant. But how did one act humble as a prince with a castle? He was now the epitome of privilege. For Unnameables’ sake, he was dressed like a ridiculous bauble!
“I see your friends over there,” Jez whispered, nodding to a group strolling down the aisle and glancing around. “Let’s have them steal seats.” She stood and waved them over. Many powdered faces grimaced in displeasure at such a vulgar display.
Laudine floated by in a fashionable iridescent dress and gave Augum, Leera and Jez a quick wave before sitting beside Bridget. She was soon followed by the rest of their friends—Jengo, Isaac and Caireen, all wearing their best court attire and with family in tow, who settled in seats nearby, many beaming to be this far forward. Bridget whispered something to Leera, and she strained her neck to glance around.
“Still no Brandon, huh?” Augum observed.
Leera pursed her lips, shook her head, then gave Bridget an apologetic look.