The Academy Volume One

by Maxine Mansfield

  And Aryanna, standing regally at his side. How could one woman be so beautiful? Lark was proud of her sister, even if she did envy her the man who would soon be her husband. If anyone deserved to be happy, Aryanna did. She’d always had a kind heart, even when she hid it under her princess façade.

  And what a façade that was. From the top of her golden curls all the way to the tips of her jewel-encased shoes, she was completely without flaw. She and Sarco were the perfect pair.

  If only Sarco’s Uncle Arizon could’ve offered them even a grain of hope. He hadn’t, and the gloom that enveloped both of them on the trip back from Landis was almost more then she could bear. They’d talked and made decisions. They’d accepted their fate, but that didn’t prevent the tears from threatening to fall.

  Lark felt ill.

  Trying her best to look at anything other than Sarco and Aryanna, she glanced around the room. Lark almost didn’t recognize the office. Mistress Seychelle had certainly outdone herself tonight.

  The white fur covering the floor was the only thing that remained the same. Gone was the large throne with its straps and the rack poor Sherman had been leashed to mere hours before. In their places were long, elegant tables set with shimmering china and sparkling crystal.

  Even the walls were different. No longer did they resemble a dungeon. Now they gleamed as white as the fur floor and were ensconced with glittering, golden lights flickering like fireflies.

  Above Lark’s head, stars shone in a cloudless night sky. A gentle, flower-fragrant breeze warmed her skin.

  She scooted farther into the corner and braced her back against the wall, not wanting to bring attention to herself. She knew she was drab and colorless compared to the other guests at the party, and especially compared to her sister.

  Wearing the same plain white gown she’d worn the night of the Carnalval ball hadn’t really been planned. They’d gotten back so late from Landis, she’d simply grabbed the first thing available in her closet.

  Now, however, Lark was grateful she blended into the background. Tylindius and Jillian Sunwalker looked totally besotted with their new daughter-in-law-to-be. Lark didn’t wish to remind any of them she existed.

  “Champagne, Miss Hammerstrike?”

  The sound of the familiar voice brought a smile to Lark’s face. The sight of the halfling standing before her with a gold-rimmed fluted goblet in his stubby hand had Lark’s mouth dropping open and her eyes widening. She quickly schooled her countenance. Sherman Bobert Limburger the Ninth truly was a changed man. He positively glowed.

  What was it about putting a man, any man, even a halfling, into formal attire that totally changed how they were perceived? The midnight-black tux with tails fit Sherman as if it had been tailored with him and only him in mind. The crisp white shirt beneath it gave testimony to the fact that he was in better shape than Lark had first thought.

  Though his mud-brown hair still stood in random, unruly, singed tufts for the most part, it had been slicked into somewhat of an orderly fashion, and his chubby cheeks sparkled with health and happiness. The only disturbing thing about him was the spiked collar he still wore about his thick neck, like a cherished trophy. And his hairy feet were conspicuously bare.

  “Miss Hammerstrike? Lark?”

  Rudely appalled at the realization she had been staring, heat crept up her cheeks. Holding out her hand, she accepted the goblet the halfling offered. “Thank you, Sherman. It’s good to see a friendly face, and, umm, you appear to be just fine. So, everything went…well with the headmistress, I take it?”

  Lark had never seen eyes the color of powdered cocoa turn to melted chocolate so quickly, but she did now as Sherman’s normally dull brown irises lit and became pools of warm, liquid excitement.

  “Oh, I’d say it went much better than well, Miss Hammerstrike. It was the best class I’ve ever taken in my entire life. My Mistress…” Sherman leaned in closer toward Lark and whispered, “That’s what Headmistress Seychelle insists I call her. Anyway, My Mistress is a most amazing woman. She showed and taught me things I’ve never seen or done before. Why, what that woman can do with a—”

  Sherman hesitated and his cheeks pinkened. “Well, it doesn’t matter what she can do. What matters is she is extremely talented. It was an experience of a lifetime.”

  Lark didn’t have a clue how to respond. “That’s nice, Sherman.”

  The very person they’d just been discussing chose that moment to make her debut in typical Headmistress Seychelle flare. With trumpets blaring and her signature, form-fitting black leather swishing, the headmistress didn’t take a backseat to anyone. She was amazing, and Lark stared, her mouth agape. From the top of the headmistress’s raven mane of curls to the tips of her stiletto boots, she was magnificent.

  Even the strange little man hopping along on the end of a thin gold leash attached daintily to the headmistress’s wrist couldn’t distract from the beauty of his owner.

  Until he opened his mouth. “Ray loves cock,” he screeched.

  Lark shook her head, and embarrassment for the beautiful woman filled her as all eyes turned toward Ray. Headmistress Seychelle, however, didn’t seem the least perturbed by the outburst. She leaned toward Ray and patted him lovingly on the head.

  “Not right now, pet. Mistress is busy. If you’re a good boy, mistress will give you cock later.”

  Seychelle continued to move through the crowd.

  Ray wasn’t having any of it. He threw himself to the floor and flailed his arms and legs about. “Ray loves cock. Ray loves cock. Ray. Loves. Cock.”

  Lark sought Sarco with her gaze and was surprised at the humor she saw gleaming back at her. The man was completely enjoying the spectacle. His parents weren’t, though. Their high-elf complexions had gone even paler than normal, and they gasped like fish attempting to breathe out of water.

  Aryanna had turned a scarlet red to match her dress and frantically fanned a faint-looking Lady Sunwalker while talking over Ray’s yelling, apparently, in hopes of drowning out his tantrum. It wasn’t working.

  “Ray loves cock. Ray loves cock. Ray lovesss—”

  The door burst open and in strolled Uthiel Dragonheart with his wife Briar on his arm. All eyes turned, even Ray’s. With a yelp, the strange little man leapt from the floor, broke the thin gold chain in his haste, and fled from the room without a backward glance.

  Headmistress Seychelle now looked perturbed. She motioned for a servant to follow Ray before turning back to her guests.

  Overhead, bells tinkled to silence everyone so the headmistress could address the crowd. “My dear guests, it is a pleasure to have with us this evening true royals of the realm. Join me in welcoming the great Lord of the Elves and ruler of Landis, Tylindius Sunwalker, and his lovely wife, Lady Jillian.”

  Applause reverberated off the walls.

  “Please take your seats and enjoy the feast,” the headmistress graciously nodded.

  Lark chose the end seat of the table farthest from the guests of honor, not wanting to bring attention to herself and really not wishing to cause herself unnecessary pain by watching Sarco and Aryanna together. She smiled as Sir Uthiel and his Lady Briar chose seats close by, glad that at least she would have someone she knew to chat with.

  She turned toward the beautiful half-elf who taught her Channeling class, her curiosity overcoming her natural propensity for proper etiquette. “I’ve heard just sketchy bits and pieces, Lady Dragonheart, but I’m dying to know why Ray is terrified of you? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  With her slightly pointed ears, waist-length auburn hair and laughing, forest-green eyes, the young woman glowed as a pink blush crept up her cheeks. At the sound of Uthiel’s chuckle, she stuck her tongue out at him. “Please, call me Briar. About Ray, well, it was simply a horrible accident.”

  Uthiel coughed and it sounded like he was choking. Lark laughed when she realized Briar kicked him under the table.

  “It was an accident, and you well know it, Ut
hiel Dragonheart!” Briar scowled at her husband, who simply shook his head and winked at Lark. Briar ignored him and continued her story. “It happened when I was taking my finals last year. I didn’t mean to cause an explosion or blow anything up. I wasn’t aware I was even channeling at first.” Briar paused for a moment. “That probably sounds silly since I am the channeling instructor, but, at first, I had no idea that drawing energy through yourself and projecting it outward was channeling. It had always been just a normal part of who I am. I thought everyone did it. Anyway, umm, Ray got in the way of a channeling mishap and ended up with no hair anywhere on his body and, umm, he was kinda singed around the edges.

  “From what I’ve been told, it took a few days to locate Ray, and the headmistress was at her wit’s end by the time they did find him. I don’t think he or Headmistress Seychelle has forgiven me for my teensy mistake. She never says anything out of the way or cruel, of course. She simply keeps her distance and makes sure Ray is nowhere near if I’m around. So now I try to stay away from them both, if I can manage it. I don’t wish to make anyone uncomfortable—even Ray—if at all possible. It’s for the best, I do believe.”

  Briar smiled, and nodded, adding, “Yes, that pretty much sums it up. By the way, I’m told he wasn’t always the way you see him now, you know. Ray, that is.”

  Lark was stunned. “Really? What happened to him?”

  “It was before I came to the Academy, so I never knew Ray when he was normal. Headmistress Seychelle herself told us Ray was once her assistant. And not just any assistant but a brilliant one. Then she loaned him out to High Mystic Purrell to help with an editing job, and what you see today is what she got back. I hope you never have the displeasure of meeting High Mystic Purrell, Lark. He’s…scary.”

  Briar shuddered as she stared off into space. Uthiel gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, and she must have shrugged off the unpleasant memory, She caught Lark’s eye again and chuckled. “Ray, though, is harmless. When he yells what he yells, all he actually wants to do is play fetch with his horrid dildo. I feel kinda sorry for the poor little guy.”

  A flurry of movement around the table distracted Lark as servants bearing food arrived. She folded her arms across her lap to give them better access to her place setting. A sense of contentment settled into her being. With Briar and Uthiel for company, it appeared dinner wasn’t going to be such a horrid event after all.

  The first course—a creamy white soup with chunks of savory vegetables—was delivered.

  Lark was about to ask another question of Briar when the door suddenly flew open and Lark glanced up.

  Her fragile feeling of contentment evaporated in an instant.

  Even though she had known her family was scheduled to arrive sometime within the next week, the sight of her mother’s haughty, cold eyes and the sound of her venom-laced voice were startling and unexpected—and Lark could have done without them for the rest of her life.

  “Seychelle, dear old friend, I certainly hope we haven’t arrived too late for what looks to me suspiciously like an engagement party.”

  Her mother sauntered across the room, her hips swaying, her golden curls bobbing to and fro, and a look of pure malice adorning her picture-perfect complexion. Lark gulped and dropped her gaze, wishing she could as easily block out the sound of the woman as she could the sight. She couldn’t, though; Queen Allanna had never in her life known when to keep quiet.

  “It seems our staff must have misplaced our invitations—if they were even sent,” the queen sniffed. “If that is indeed what transpired, trust me, the staff will be decisively dealt with. Unless, of course, that isn’t the case at all…? Which means it’s simply a matter of you playing favorites, since the groom’s parents are high-elves like yourself.”

  Her voice rose an octave. “You wouldn’t do that, now, would you, old friend?”

  Silverware clattered as it dropped from stunned fingers of people seated at the tables around the now completely silent room.

  Oh Lord Draka, Lark moaned. Everyone is horrified, and I don’t blame them. Although she was on the opposite side of the room, she felt the vibrations of Headmistress Seychelle’s chair being suddenly pushed back, then teetering before it toppled to the floor with a resounding crash.

  Lark held her breath.

  Seychelle, in her haste to jump to attention, got a heel caught in the hem of her leather garment and stumbled forward, but the headmistress recovered nicely. Lark sighed with relief. She caught herself inwardly cheering as Seychelle managed to make her near-disaster seem part of the fluid movement of announcing her newest guests.

  “Queen Allanna, and King Alfred Hammerstrike! Oh, my goodness, what a wonderful surprise. This is truly an honor. I’d never plan an engagement party without the bride’s parents. You should know that. This is simply a welcome dinner for the Sunwalkers, and now for your family also, of course.” Headmistress Seychelle spread her arms wide. “Look, everyone, Princess Aryanna’s parents have arrived…and earlier than expected. What a treat.”

  With a huff and her nose held high, Queen Allanna Zanlynn Calista Hammerstrike, with the king in tow, whisked past Lark on her way to the table of honor without a passing glance for her youngest daughter. Bless the Lord Draka for small favors.

  But the lump that had been forming in the pit of Lark’s stomach since the moment she left Landis now doubled in size when the remainder of her family didn’t follow suit, but actually stopped at her chair. One by one, they greeted and hugged her—first her brother, Adan, then the twins, Ally and Audrey.

  At least her siblings were starting to move on after saying hello, and for a moment, Lark thought she’d get away with remaining in her little corner of the room.

  Then she saw Grandmother Ava and knew it was a hopeless cause.

  “Lark, you look pale, child. You haven’t been eating well and you’ve been studying too hard as usual, haven’t you?” The old woman held up a weathered hand as Lark opened her mouth to respond. “Don’t even think of denying it. A grandmother knows these things. Come along now and sit with the family.”

  Somewhere off in the distance, thunder rumbled.

  Knowing it wasn’t a request but an order, Lark didn’t balk. And considering it came from her grandmother, she quickly gave her apologies to Uthiel and Briar, then followed as bidden.

  She had no sooner taken her seat and her first bite of food from the plate placed in front of her, when her mother let her know that even if she hadn’t formally acknowledged her, she was acutely aware of her presence.

  “Must you always gulp your food like a commoner, Lark? It’s one thing to do it at home, but I can hear you chewing all the way down here. And do sit up straight. At least try to act like the princess you were born to be. I swear, you are a constant embarrassment.”

  Lark tried to swallow her bite of partially chewed Alarian Mountain Beefalo, but even water wouldn’t make it go down.

  How can someone so beautiful on the outside be so ugly where it really counts? From the tips of her golden curls done up in a stylish fashion, to her petite figure in a stunning gown of crystalline white, the queen was perfection to gaze upon. It had always been amazing to Lark what evil a pretty shell could hide.

  Lark’s face burned with increasing heat. Her eyes watered with unshed tears, and her chest constricted to the point where breathing became painful. She couldn’t bring herself to look at her mother, and she certainly couldn’t look at Sarco, who sat nearby with Aryanna. The last thing she wanted to see in his eyes was the pity she was sure was there.

  A new voice made her wish for a hole to open up and swallow her. “Personally, I like to see a girl with a good appetite. These days, most eat like birds. Much too thin, if you ask me.”

  Lady Jillian Sunwalker’s attempt to defend her was even worse than her own mother’s hatefulness. Hatefulness she could deal with, hatefulness she was used to.

  Pity was another story.

  But Lady Sunwalker wasn’t done yet. “A nice
pair of hips can be an asset, especially for carrying grandchildren. You might wish to keep that in mind.”

  Finally swallowing the now-tasteless morsel, Lark held her head high, raised her gaze, and scanned the table. One by one, the guests looked away. Even her own siblings were embarrassed for her.

  Except for Grandmother Ava, who glared at her own daughter and wasn’t looking in Lark’s direction.

  Jillian and Sarco Sunwalker, though, they were both looking straight at her. And they had identical expressions in their eyes. It wasn’t pity—it was acceptance! Lark could have kissed them both.

  Her father’s deep baritone voice broke the silence. “Allanna, my dear, let the child eat in peace. This is a celebration, after all.”

  Lark’s mother glared at her husband, and her words slithered off her tongue. “Don’t be such a barbarian, Alfred. You’ve always had a soft spot for the one flaw in our otherwise perfect family. Manners and etiquette may mean nothing to you, but as for myself, I’m much more gently bred and demand nothing less than perfection from our children. Someone has to uphold the standards of our station.”

  King Alfred Zavier Caden Hammerstrike patted his wife’s hand before picking up his fork. “I suppose you know best, dear.”

  Tears burned the corners of Lark’s eyes.

  She caught Sarco’s eye, and he smiled that mischievous smile she so loved. A familiar warmth seeped into her mind.

  “I don’t like your mother, Wonderful. How much do you want to bet she has that same sour expression on her face when your father gets up the nerve to actually ask her for sex? I’d wager she even critiques the poor fellow’s performance in bed. ‘To the right…no, your other right, barbarian! Faster, faster—no, slower. Oh, just get off of me and forget it.’”

  Lark covered her mouth with both hands, trying her best to suppress a laugh. Her face burned even hotter, knowing none of the other people at the table were privy to what Sarco had just thought. They probably thought she was not only a glutton and a mistake, but an idiot to boot.