18
I wake up to the smell of bacon, throw on a pair of jeans and a blue blouse, and look in the mirror. The face that stares back at me looks nothing like the girls I’ve seen in movies or television.
I study my image more closely in the mirror. Flawless skin, high cheekbones, full lips, curly hair with several different colors intermixed.
Maybe it’s the hair. I can’t think of a single human with multicolored strands like mine, but I’ve seen dozens with shiny blonde hair. I pull a knife from my backpack and lop all my hair off as close to my scalp as I can without sacrificing skin. Then I close my eyes and think about each hair follicle, willing it to grow out into a buttery, shiny blonde.
Moments later, my hair reaches my shoulders. I grow it a little longer, and then I use the end of my knife to trim off the ends into a layered, shaggy mane.
I glance down at the black, blonde, red, and brown curls strewn across my tufty carpet. I ought to have done this in the bathroom. Whoops. I hope Alora’s cleaning people aren’t annoyed. I look back at my reflection. Perfect cheekbones, impeccable mouth, flawless green-blue eyes, now framed by wheat-colored hair. I could easily disappear into a teen gossip magazine.
I hate it.
I focus on my eyes until they darken to a grassy green. This time, I move into the bathroom before lopping off my hair and regrowing it long and black, like a crow’s wing. I trim the ends carefully below my shoulders so there aren’t any blonde tips left to give away my first attempt.
Better. I look more human, but less Malibu Barbie.
I open my door to go downstairs, and Edam’s door opens at the same time.
“Morning,” he says. I know the exact moment he notices my new hair and eye color, because his eyebrows draw together slightly.
“Uh, good morning.”
“Where are you off to?” he asks.
“Breakfast,” I say, “but then I’ve got school today. My first day of school, ever.”
He frowns. “Training should be your priority.”
I glance at my watch. It’s only 5:15 am. “I’ll check with Alora, but I bet we have time to go a few rounds before I leave.”
His hands tighten into fists. “I need more than an hour here or there if you want any hope of surviving against Judica.”
I don’t yell at him or remind him that I haven’t even decided whether I want to go back. By force of will, I don’t collapse into a sobbing ball when I think about the reason I’ve got a decision like this to make at all. Mom’s gone, and gnashing my teeth or stabbing Edam in the eye won’t bring her back. I’m heartily tired of everyone, Edam included, questioning everything I do and arguing with everything I say.
“Nevertheless,” I say, “you’ll get what you get and say ‘thanks Your Majesty’ after you get it.”
When I breeze past him and down the stairs, his eyes follow me without saying another word. Take that, Mr. Bossy. When I walk into the dining room, Alora’s already there, of course. Edam jogs in a few steps behind me.
Other than raising her eyebrows, Alora doesn’t acknowledge the changes to my hair and eyes. “Excited for your first day of real school?”
“Nervous,” I say. “And I have no idea what to wear.”
Lark walks in the door, and Edam’s heart rate accelerates.
“Oh, by the way, I didn’t follow my mother’s final command,” I say. “Lark’s still alive. Do you have a problem with that?”
Edam shakes his head, his heart rate already slowing to normal.
“Good. The guards already know.”
Edam frowns.
“I’m wearing this.” Lark smooths her wool skirt with her hands. Rich embroidery covers her dark brown shirt, gold threads highlighting the amber glints in her eyes. “Alora told me they don’t wear uniforms.”
“If they’re going to school,” Edam says, “then I’m going with them.”
“I thought you might say that,” Alora says. “So I’ve made arrangements.”
Arrangements sounds ominous. “Edam’s going to be a student?” I lift one eyebrow. In evian terms, he and I are nearly the same age. But to humans, the eight years he’s got on me make a significant difference.
“Something like that,” Alora says.
“How close to that?” Now Edam’s the one lifting his eyebrows.
“As to what you should wear,” Alora says to me, ignoring Edam. “Something nice, but not formal.”
She’s changing the subject. Which makes me want to dig for details, but as Edam’s dying to do the same, I’d rather torment him than find out myself. A sideways smile sneaks onto my face. “So, slacks and a button-down shirt?”
“That would be acceptable.”
“What about me?” Edam asks. “Should I be wearing a landscaping jumpsuit?”
I snort.
Mom would be outraged at such a crass reaction. My heart falls. I’m sitting here, baiting Edam and smiling, when my Mom died yesterday. What’s wrong with me? I grab a plate full of food and stand up. “I’m heading back to my room. Edam, I’ll meet you in the ballroom in ten minutes.”
Lark freezes with a slice of bacon halfway to her mouth. “Did I miss something?”
I shake my head. “I’ve got training to complete before and after school. I’m just in a hurry, that’s all.”
Alora stands up too. “Edam, Frederick will brief you on the position I’ve secured for you at Trinity.”
“I don’t know why he needs to come at all,” I grumble.
Edam stands up. “I will keep you safe until you decide what to do, Your Majesty.”
“I have Frederick and Arlington and the others for that.”
“None of them are my equal,” Edam says simply. “I’ll see you in the training room.”
Before I can follow him out, Alora stops me. “It’s a strange time of year to be starting at a new school for humans, but I developed a story for you and Lark. You’re fraternal twins, which I assume you can fake, and your father was chosen to move the base of operations of a large cosmetic company from Hawaii to New York to allow a better international presence.”
“Is that necessary?” I ask. “Will anyone care?”
Alora shrugs. “Humans at Trinity talk about that sort of thing. Your dad’s company is called Alvian.”
I grin. “Like a cross between Alamecha and evian?”
“Mother loved things like that. Which is precisely why she started that snooty water company so many years ago.”
“Evian?” I ask.
Alora smiles. “I miss her.”
I do too. I squeeze her shoulder and jog up the stairs to change my shoes into sneakers, and then I head up to the ballroom. Edam’s waiting on me.
“We only have ninety minutes this morning, so I mean to make them count,” he says.
I spend half the training session in a blindfold, and the other half being sliced to ribbons while Edam tells me to heal faster. I collapse on the floor at the end, staring up at the wood paneling on the ceiling.
“If you’re trying to convince me to abdicate, it’s working,” I groan.
Edam sits down next to me. “I’m not.”
“You’re this awful to everyone you train?”
He grunts. “Not at all. You aren’t like anyone else. You can do more.”
“Oh please,” I say.
“You have to do more. And we only have a week to get you there.”
“I could quit,” I say. “Live my long life doing something other than hatching plots, passing judgment, and executing my friends.”
“At least Judica doesn’t need to worry about that,” Edam says.
“What?” I ask.
“She doesn’t have any friends, so she can’t execute them.”
I giggle. “She has that puppy dog guy who always follows her around, right on Death’s heels.”
“Roman’s an excellent fighter and talented with strategy.” Edam crosses his arms.
I sit up. “You’re mad at me.”
He shakes his
head. “Roman really cares about her, and she ignores him. I’m mad at her, not you. And at Roman a little, for not having more self-respect.”
“Or better taste.” I grin.
Edam stands up and offers me a hand. “I can’t be the cause of you being late on your first day.” He pulls me to my feet, but doesn’t let go of my hand.
My heart skips a few beats. I hope he doesn’t notice. I lick my lips, my face only inches from his. Surprisingly, even after ninety minutes of sweating, and my blood spatter all over him, he still smells good. Spicy somehow, like sage. “You can slice me to ribbons, but heaven forbid you make me late?”
His eyes stare down at me, intense, calm. “You have big decisions to make. I’m here to support you in making the right one.”
“What is the right one?”
He shakes his head. “Only you know that.”
“What would you pick for me, if I asked you to?”
“You’ll make a better empress than your sister. You care more. And you’re guidable. She’s rigid and uncaring.”
“You want me to fight her?”
He dips his head, bringing his lips closer to my ear. I can barely make out his words, and his tone is raspy, breathy. “You already know what I’d pick.”
“Say it anyway.”
“Choose option C. Let me fight her for you. Then you can rule, and I’ll keep you safe.”
I turn to face him, wondering whether his eyes reflect the intensity of his words. They do, and I lean toward him without meaning to do it. He moves closer, too. Much closer.
“Your Majesty?” Arlington asks from the doorway.
I step back so quickly that my heel drags on the floor and I nearly stumble. Edam’s arm shoots out and wraps around my hip, steadying me. My heart races and I practically run toward the doorway. “I better shower and change.”
When I look back at Edam, he’s beaming.
19
I pull a green cashmere sweater that matches my newly modified eyes over my head and pair it with khaki slacks. Lark arrives while I’m zipping up my knee-high boots.
“Alora’s car is waiting outside,” she says.
Of course it is.
“Are you nervous?” I ask.
Lark’s laugh falls around me like a cascade of bells. “About attending a human school?”
“Not about the academics, I mean, but about fitting in and interacting with so many of them. Being normal?”
She shakes her head. “Not in the slightest. It’ll be nothing compared to evian court.”
Alora hands Lark and me each a black Prada bag when we reach the bottom of the stairs.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“It holds your books and a lunch. You have to take those things with you every day.”
I sort of expect to see Edam, but he probably can’t show up with a bunch of students.
When I step into the car, I’m surprised to see another familiar face. I’ve known Alora’s driver, Bernard, since I was a baby. “Good morning, miss,” he says.
I probably saw him on the drive here from the airport, but I was in such a haze I don’t recall. Frederick’s sitting in the back seat in a black suit and tie.
“What’s your plan?” I ask. “You can’t follow me around from class to class and snatch sandwiches out of my hands.”
“I already tasted each component of your lunch myself,” he says. “As long as you keep it in your possession until you eat it, you’ll be okay.”
I stifle a chuckle. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I’ll be running the security for the entire school, thanks to Alora’s influence, which means I’ll have eyes on you at all times via their camera feeds. I’ll also have guards placed at strategic points around the school so that you’re always within a dozen feet of one of us.”
“I want to see what a normal school environment is like.” I stare at him hard and he doesn’t even flinch. “I mean it.”
“The school hired a new security firm thanks to a recent incident.” He shrugs.
“And you’re the new firm.” As close to normal as I could expect, I guess. Hopefully the students won’t suspect the new protocols have anything to do with me.
It only takes a few minutes to reach the school, even with New York traffic. Freddy lets Lark and me out alone, thankfully, and we walk in alongside dozens of other students who all look at us like we’re a zoo exhibit.
“You guys new?” one boy with bright red hair and freckles asks.
“We are,” Lark says. “Rebecca and Laura Adair. Nice to meet you.”
“Uh, yeah.” He keeps walking.
“He’s rude,” Lark says.
“We might be the problem,” I say.
Lark quirks her eyebrow. “How so?”
“Alora’s hundreds of years old, and she’s been living with the humans for more than a century,” I say. “Beyond that, she’s a prima ballerina and a genius.”
“Okay,” Lark says.
“And she’s also, apparently, an idiot. She told me to wear something nice.” I glance around pointedly at the kids streaming past us in the hall. I grew up in Hawaii wearing flip flops and shorts whenever an event of state didn’t require me to wear designer clothing. And yet today, on my first day of school, I’m dramatically overdressed. Everyone is wearing jeans and t-shirts, interspersed with the occasional sweater.
“We look like teachers,” Lark whispers.
I nod ruefully. “Alora’s getting an earful later.”
One kid among the dozens and dozens we pass doesn’t stare or laugh. He actually looks at me with something resembling empathy. “Your last school had uniforms, huh?”
Close enough. I nod.
He holds out his hand and we shake. It seems oddly formal for school, but Alora mentioned kids here talk about their parents’ professions frequently. Perhaps they’re all oddly formal.
“Noah Wen. Welcome to Trinity.” Noah has short, straight, jet black hair that’s spiky in the front, and slightly slanted eyes, indicating Asian descent in humans. When I look closer, I notice his irises are, surprisingly, a bright grayish blue. And not from contact lenses, either.
“Thanks. I’m Rebecca Adair, and this is my sister Laura. We’re not off to a very auspicious start, I’m afraid.”
He grins. “I’ll show you ladies to the front office. But if you want to blend in a little better, maybe wear some jeans tomorrow and lay off the SAT words like ‘auspicious’ until everyone gets to know you.”
We pass four of my guards on the way to the office. Only one of them starts to bow before catching herself.
“You’re starting on a weird day,” Noah says. “We got an email blast last night saying that the School Board voted to beef up security after some incident last week. I don’t even know what the alleged incident was. I didn’t hear about anything, but surprise! We’ve got guards all over the place now like we’re going to school at an airport. Don’t be nervous though, because I swear it’s safe here.”
“Well, thanks for showing us to the registrar,” I say. “We appreciate it.”
“The registrar?” Noah shoots me an odd look. “This isn’t college. But here’s the front desk, and good luck today. I’ll be around if you need a friendly face.”
Thankfully, the vice principal, Mrs. Nelson, doesn’t seem to notice that what we’re wearing doesn’t exactly fit. It’s as though everyone over twenty years of age is oblivious to clothing and style. She welcomes us and walks us through the school rules.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have room to put you both in the same class,” she says. “We’re completely full, but we do try to make room for legacy students, and your cousins have been some of our favorites.”
Cousins? Alora didn’t tell me any of her kids came here.
“My assistant Jane will take you to your first class, Laura, and I’ll walk you to calculus, Rebecca,” Mrs. Nelson says.
“Oh good,” I say. “Calculus.”
“We’ll still eat lun
ch together?” Lark asks.
Mrs. Nelson nods. “Lunch is determined by grade level. But your other classes aren’t the same.”
Lark’s lips compress, but she doesn’t complain. “See you at lunch.”
I follow Mrs. Nelson out of her office and to the right. Lark waves at me once before she disappears from sight.
“You may find classes here quite challenging,” Mrs. Nelson says.
I know nothing about calculus other than the fact that it’s a subset of the mathematics curriculum. I haven’t spent much time on math at home. I might be in trouble.
“Are you sure I’m supposed to be enrolled in calculus?” I ask.
The tall, bony Mrs. Nelson stops near the open doorway as students filter past us. She frowns. “I put you and Laura in as close to the same classes as I could based on your transcripts from Punahou.”
I blink. “From where?”
“I’m sorry, am I saying it wrong? Punahou?” She pronounces it like ‘Punawow’ the second time. “Your old high school? Maybe they say it differently in Hawaii?”
“Oh, right. My old high school. Of course.”
She looks at me funny. “If you weren’t in calculus in Hawaii, you definitely won’t be able to keep up here.”
“Oh I’m sure I’ll be fine.” After all, how hard can a human class be?
Mrs. Nelson stares pointedly. “You let me know if there’s been a mistake. We want to prepare our students to succeed in the real world by challenging them now, but that doesn’t mean we throw you in and stand idly by while you drown.”
Mrs. Nelson walks through the door and into the room and I follow her. “I want to introduce a new student to you, Mr. Mansfield.”
“I thought we didn’t allow mid-term transfers.” The short, balding man with a paunch frowns at me. He’s wearing khaki pants and a white button-down shirt.
“We’re making an exception for Rebecca and her sister,” Mrs. Nelson tells him. Then, very quietly under her breath, she whispers to him, “Their mother recently passed, and their father thought a change of scenery might help.”
He nods and turns to me. Very quietly, he says, “I’m very sorry for your loss. Welcome.”
Mrs. Nelson straightens her suit coat and glares at him before marching out the door just as a bell rings.
Displaced (The Birthright Series Book 1) Page 20