Chapter 16
In the darkness Eleanor could only just see the flight of stairs leading down to her left, and she ran her hands along the walls for stability as she began to make her way down, taking each step carefully in case of hidden traps. The stairs were alarmingly steep and she almost fell a couple of times, but she finally made it to the bottom without mishap. The passageway then led straight onwards, in pitch blackness, for a considerable distance – she guessed it must have been at least a mile, and she wondered whether she'd still be within the city limits once she emerged. Her natural sense of direction was useless underground.
After a time the floor began to slope upwards, gradually at first, and the passage began to wind back and forth as it worked its way back up to ground level. In the darkness at the end of the passage her hands found a door; she pushed it open, and stepped out into an oak-panelled, stone-floored hall.
A number of grand candelabras flooded the room with flickering light, and she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. There were a few young men in the room already, standing in small groups and speaking in hushed tones. No-one seemed to have noticed her enter so she closed the door quietly and stood with her back against the wall, looking from face to face. Presumably these were the other students. She was the only girl – but if Raf was right that they'd only recently started allowing women to enroll, it was hardly surprising.
But Raf wasn't there.
She shuddered as she wondered what had become of him. Had he even managed to escape from Taraska? She couldn't bear to think what they would've done to him if they'd found him again.
Pushing the thought from her mind, she edged towards the nearest youth, the only one of the group not to be in conversation already. He was tall – standing head and shoulders above Eleanor – with a slim, toned frame. A mop of blond hair fell across his eyes and he held himself stiffly.
"My name's Eleanor," she said once she was close enough. "Who're you?"
"Daniel," he replied, hardly bothering to glance down at her.
She waited, and when nothing more was forthcoming from him, she asked, "Which school did you go to?"
She didn't expect the answer to mean anything to her, and it didn't. She wasn't even sure she could have reproduced the lengthy, foreign-sounding word.
He must have registered her blank expression because he added: "You have heard of us, if not by name. We are on a ship."
Hearing him speak more than one word, Eleanor noticed that his accent was slightly foreign, too. He enunciated every word carefully and quietly in a soft tenor, but the sounds weren't quite right: his 'V's morphed into 'F's, and there was a breathy quality to his voice. Even through the gentle lilting tones, which fell strangely on her ears, she could sense an absolute confidence – bordering on arrogance – in his words.
It took her slightly longer to absorb the meaning of what he'd said. Of course she'd heard rumours of the ship-board school. Everyone had. And everyone at Mersioc Regional School for Girls had dismissed it as pure fiction. Eleanor could hear her friends' words clearly in her mind: "A school on a ship, honestly, it's just stupid. Who would start a story like that?"
Eleanor herself, who had always held a secret longing for the sea, had reserved judgement. She hoped this had been enough to protect her from showing any surprise; she doubted the young man would be happy to find out that no-one actually believed in his school.
"So what was that like?" she asked.
"It was just a school. I am glad to have left."
While she was still trying to think of an intelligent response, he turned away. Glad to be saved from having to think of any more small-talk, Eleanor settled to studying the other students again. Aside from all being male, they had other things in common, like the obviously toned physiques, the practical clothing, and the weapons hidden – and in some cases not so hidden – about their persons. There could be no question she'd found the place she was looking for.
By the time she'd made her brief assessment, Daniel had moved across to the edge of the room and settled himself on the floor, leaning back against the wall. Eventually others also started to sit, or even to lie down, and some seemed to settle into sleep. Eleanor sat cross-legged on the floor and allowed herself to doze, but with her hand clasped tightly around the hilt of her dagger.
They were disturbed some time later by the opening of a door – a door which, until that moment, Eleanor hadn't realised was there. She watched carefully as it swung closed again and then examined the wall, determined to find some subtle sign that she had missed, something which showed that those particular panels in fact concealed an entranceway. It was, she was sure, the kind of thing it would be useful to notice. After a moment's study she identified a very slight bow to the wood along the edge of a couple of the panels, giving away the hinges. And on the other side of the door, her eyes settled on a small knot in the wood – she was too far away to be sure, even with her keen vision, but she suspected that the apparent defect in fact concealed access to the mechanism.
Satisfied, she turned her attention to the man who had entered. He was short and slightly stocky, and completely bald though Eleanor thought from his face that he looked only a year or two older than she was.
His footsteps made no sound as he moved into the room, and Eleanor noted with envy that silence seemed to come naturally to him; she had to work hard when she wanted to move quietly. She suspected everyone was thinking along the same lines as they watched him: this was their first glimpse into what their futures held, and it was impressive. She only hoped the baldness wasn't compulsory; she was unreasonably fond of her long, flame-red hair.
"Welcome to the academy," the man said as the students gathered in front of him. "And thank you all for coming.
"Three of the council's intended recruits did not choose to join us; they will have taken up their Level Three postings by now."
He looked around at the assembled students, and his eyes fixed on Eleanor; she met his gaze steadily, assuming he'd picked her out for her gender and not wishing to give him the satisfaction of seeming self-conscious about it.
When he next spoke, however, his voice had changed and his words shook her to the core. "But who are you?" he asked.
Eleanor felt eight pairs of eyes turn on her. Maybe it was yet another test of her courage.
"My name's Eleanor," she replied, drawing back her shoulders and straightening to her full height. She watched the man's face carefully as she spoke, trying to measure his reactions, but he didn't leave her in doubt for long.
"You," he indicated sharply to Daniel. "Guard her. I shan't be long."
Daniel gave a small nod, but otherwise remained still at her side.
The man turned and left by the door he had come in through, and Eleanor was slightly mollified to find that she'd been right about the position of the mechanism.
As soon as the man had gone, one of the boys turned to Eleanor. He was a tallish, heavy-set youth with short, light-brown hair and an unsmiling face.
"You not supposed to be here?" he asked, reaching for a dagger which he kept sheathed at his hip. His voice was just as miserable as his face.
"How would she know?" Daniel asked before she could respond, positioning himself slightly between Eleanor and the other boy.
"Well, the school... My headmaster told me what to do, not much space to get it wrong – didn't yours?"
Eleanor thought back to her conversation with Isabelle just before she'd left school. The headmistress had seemed like she was holding something back – should there have been more information?
"You must be of Venncastle," Daniel said. "Famed only for such transgressions."
Venncastle! Eleanor's ears pricked up at the familiar name. But she was bemused by their exchange; clearly they shared some understanding which she lacked. She held herself silent, doubting she'd do herself any favours by asking questions at this stage.
"And with that accent, and stupid ideals like that – you must be one of the fantasists fr
om the ship," a skinny, gaunt-faced lad sneered at Daniel. "But why protect the girl? You her boyfriend?"
"She is here," Daniel said. "That is what matters."
"If the girl was meant to be here, she'd be sure," said the surly youth. He looked hard at Eleanor. "Are you?"
"I'm here," Eleanor said, drawing a little confidence from Daniel's words. Maybe it didn't even matter whether she'd been expected: maybe just getting here would be enough to prove her worth.
"Leave it, Jorge," the skinny one muttered. "They'll get the council to sort it."
The group fell into an uneasy silence. It seemed to be forever that they stood there, held in a kind of stalemate. The thick-set youth – Jorge – stood with his dagger held loosely in his hand, glaring at Eleanor but not daring to step past Daniel to reach her; his skinny friend hovered just behind. Daniel had his back firmly to Eleanor, standing stock-still and keeping his eyes on the knife.
For her part, Eleanor was determinedly studying the floor, managing to find great interest in a corner of the cracked grey slab. She assumed the eight young men surrounding her were all equipped with similar skills to her own; superior, possibly, if they were supposed to be here and she was not – if she had indeed come all this way following a trail which hadn't been intended for her. So having quickly discounted the idea of trying to run or fight, she simply resigned herself to waiting. Daniel seemed to have interpreted the instruction to guard her as meaning to protect her from the others as well as to stop her from leaving, so she felt safe enough, particularly as her fingers also touched lightly against the hilt of her own favourite knife.
Eventually, the bald man returned. He swept back across the room and addressed himself directly to Eleanor in the first instance.
"You have arrived," he said. "So the council have deemed you will stay."
Eleanor saw Daniel's muscles relax, and he finally allowed his eyes to move away from the knife blade. Jorge shoved the dagger roughly back into its sheath, but he still watched Eleanor with a look of deep suspicion.
The bald man turned back to the room at large, continuing where he'd left off: "Three have chosen not to come. Two who made the attempt have sadly not survived the journey. And Eleanor has, uhmm, surprised us."
It was the last time he mentioned her by name, and he now continued with what seemed to be a standard patter.
"You're all here because you were smart enough to look for the truth behind the legends," he went on. "You will have been expecting Level One posts, and you had the sense to turn down assignments which were so obviously beneath you. Your reward is Level Zero training."
There were gasps and murmurs; no-one had ever heard of Level Zero. Any interest the boys might have had in Eleanor's fate was wiped from their minds, at least for now.
"There will be time for questions later," the man said. "You will all have heard, of course, some tales of mythical assassins. All of you will have encountered different stories, but it's time for a grain of truth. The Association does not only – or mainly – deal in assassination."
Eleanor was sure she saw a look of disappointment flash across Jorge's face, although he quickly hid it.
The man continued, "Wherever a job needs doing in secrecy and in silence, the Association is called upon. We do some work for the Imperial Throne, but we are not ruled directly by the Empress or her Parliament; we have our own council and follow our own laws, which you will learn."
"What, so we're rebels?" asked one of the youths.
"Not rebels, no," Andreas said. "Just not entirely a part of the Imperial Service. You'll understand in time. For the next two years you will live in the academy. Your training will be a mixture of classroom instruction, supervised practice, and competitive test missions. You will train in order to acquire the necessary skills for your job, and you will compete for a seat on the council. Only one of you will be awarded that honour."
Eleanor looked around the room, wondering whether the others felt the same mixture of excitement and relief and nerves. Finally, after the previous year's ordeals, she really felt she'd arrived. Finally she was being given a glimpse into this strange new world.
"My name is Andreas," the bald man said. "I graduated this summer. I am here to answer your questions, so far as I'm permitted."
He made a small bow and looked around for questions.
"When do we start?" asked a small, sinewy lad. His voice was pitched high with thinly-disguised excitement, and he had a broad, slightly cheeky grin.
"Soon enough," Andreas replied with a faint smile. "Though I think we'll have lunch first."
They all laughed nervously; it felt dangerous not to laugh at the joke of a trained killer. Eleanor suspected it wouldn't take long for them to lose that sense of unease. Already she felt a certainty that the staff of the academy wouldn't harm them deliberately, even her, even if she hadn't been expected. Accidents could happen, of course, in practical training. That was inevitable. But this small band of students was clearly too valuable a commodity to waste indiscriminately.
"We will get a schedule soon?" Daniel asked.
"Tomorrow, yes. Your classes will start in two days time."
"And when do we get our new weapons?" asked the skinny, sneering youth.
"You'll meet with our weaponsmiths tomorrow, and the tailor will be available to take your measurements for clothing," Andreas said. He looked around expectantly. "Anything else?"
"Shouldn't we all introduce ourselves?" Eleanor suggested. Though she was sure Andreas already had them all identified, she wanted for herself to know who the others were. "I'm Eleanor, but then you all knew that. I've come from Mersioc Regional School, near Port Just."
Daniel nodded slowly. "Daniel," he said. "Of Hessekolenisshe."
Eleanor repeated the word silently to herself, trying to drum the strange sounds into her head: hess-heck-oh-lay-nee-shay. She still wasn't sure she'd remember it.
"Mikhail," said the sinewy boy. "From Almont City 7."
"Charles, Dashfort City 3."
"Jorge. Venncastle."
"Sebastien, from the Forest School near Bastion."
"Mack, also from the Forest."
"Paul, Almont City 18."
"Frederick, Venncastle." That was the skinny one who'd mocked Daniel's accent.
"Good," Andreas nodded. "And now, lunch. Then I'll show you to your rooms. Leave your belongings here for now."
Eleanor fell into step with Daniel as they followed the others from the room. "So... what's it like being at school on a boat?" she asked.
"I have known no other kind," he said, and she blushed a little; of course he had nothing to compare it to. Even if the school prided itself on its most unusual feature, it was merely normal for the students.
"I learnt to sail on a fishing boat last year," she said, trying to recover the conversation as they walked along the broad, wood-panelled corridor. Framed portraits of young men posing with a variety of weapons were hung at irregular intervals along the walls. "But it was only a small boat. And then I sailed with a Magrad ship for a couple of months."
"It was strange to come to the land," Daniel said. "It still is hard to sleep."
They were saved from further conversation by their arrival at the dining hall. A heavy oak table ran down the middle of the room, surrounded by about thirty chairs – only two of which were occupied. Andreas stopped abruptly and indicated the two young men who were already seated: "Our second year students."
"Jorge!" one of the second years called out, raising a hand in greeting.
Jorge nodded to them. "Jon; Victor."
"Come, sit!" the other youth – Victor – said. "And you, Freddie. Food here's even better than school."
"So they are both Venncastle also," Daniel muttered under his breath, as Jorge and Frederick crossed the room to join the older boys. The rest of the group followed slowly, and Eleanor found herself sitting between Daniel and Sebastien.
"Only two of them left," Sebastien said, glancing nervously to
wards the second years. "That's a lot of accidents, if their group started out the same size as ours."
Eleanor shook her head. "I don't think so. Some strange things happened last year... the Tarasanka killed a lot of us before the year even started..." Her voice trailed off as her thoughts came back to Raf, and she blinked back tears.
"What do you know about that?" Victor asked, looking intently at her from beneath a fringe of thick black hair. She was caught by surprise that he'd been listening to her, when he'd appeared to be engaged with his old schoolfriends.
"I was in Taraska last autumn," she said quietly, uncomfortably aware that she'd become the centre of attention again. Her fingers played on the broken ridge of her nose, and she almost gasped with remembered pain. "I know they set a trap at the code tower, and we... I mean, me and Raf... I mean..."
She bit her lip and screwed her eyes closed, determined not to let herself cry – not while everyone was watching. Taking a deep breath, she addressed herself directly to Victor.
"You must have known Raf," she said. "You will have been in the same year at Venncastle."
He nodded his confirmation but said nothing, though his intense brown eyes asked a thousand questions.
"Well, the two of us had to keep the Tarasanka security service busy last year," Eleanor said, almost relieved to have the chance to talk about it at last, to people who knew Raf even though they didn't know her. "Past the equinox, to stop them coming here. They were torturing people for the clues. Killing them."
Subconsciously, her hand went to the unusual belt she'd fastened around her waist. She wondered when would be the best time to show it.
"Raf's dead, then?" asked Jon.
Eleanor looked away. "I don't know," she murmured. Suddenly she was very aware of the decision she'd made in leaving him. Had she condemned him? What would they think of her, these boys who had been his classmates? But he'd been so insistent, and it had made sense at the time. "We escaped, but he was injured, too weak to travel. Last time I saw him was in Taraska La'on, nearly a year ago."
"And he's not here," Victor said.
"No." Eleanor felt herself on the verge of tears again. Why isn't he here? It seemed reasonable to assume that he was dead. "How did you avoid the trap?" she asked, hoping she could change the subject for long enough to recover her composure.
"The school are very good," Jon said.
Daniel muttered something under his breath but Eleanor ignored him, more interested in finding out what had happened.
"Someone kept his ear to the ground. We were still at school when the first reports came in, and they encouraged us to go to the maze and the puzzle chamber first, while they cleared it up."
"They must have been too late for Raf, though," Victor added. "I never understood why he was in such a rush."
It all made sense, though Eleanor still found it incredible that all but two of the previous year's students had fallen into the trap before it had been discovered. It was some coincidence that they were both Venncastle students, though of course Venncastle was very close to the code tower. She continued with her lunch in silence and a hush had fallen over the rest of the students, too, so that for a while the only sounds were made by their cutlery scraping on the plates.
Once she'd eaten her fill, Eleanor reached under her shirt to untie the belt she'd been secretly wearing for so long. She couldn't have explained why she'd kept wearing it even after her return to the Empire – it would have been safer to tuck it into a corner of her bag, and safer still to just dispose of it altogether, but she'd promised Raf that she would bring the name-bangles to the Association. She pulled the belt out from under her clothes, and laid it on the table in front of her; the links jangled against one another as she removed the strip of cloth to leave only the chain of interlocked bangles.
"These are the name-bangles of the students who were killed," she began. "We didn't really know what to do with them... Raf thought we should bring them back here." Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of Andreas' face. Her fellow students looked curious, but his stare was cold and accusatory.
He stood up, walked around the table and reached over her shoulder for the bangles. "I cannot deal with this myself," he said, the chain clinking loudly as he snatched it up. "You must account for yourself to the council."
Eleanor swallowed, her throat feeling suddenly very dry. She asked herself again why she hadn't simply dropped them into the sea; it would've been so much easier.
"Victor," Andreas continued. "Please run ahead and warn the council that their attention will be needed again. This must be dealt with at once. Jon, please show the others to their rooms."
Jon nodded his agreement; Victor had already left. Andreas steered Eleanor from the room and they walked in silence through the empty corridors, until Andreas stopped her outside a heavily-riveted door. A moment later, Victor emerged from the room.
"All assembled," he said, then turned to give Eleanor a reassuring smile before sprinting away.
She followed Andreas into the council chamber, to be faced with a room full of men sitting around a large, heavy table. Eleanor guessed that their ages ranged between twenty and seventy years; all looked displeased. Andreas moved around the room and whispered in the ear of a thin, silver-haired man, leaving Eleanor alone by the door.
Her eyes quickly came to focus on the one familiar face amongst all the strangers: Laban. In spite of everything, she breathed a sigh of relief. If he was here then she knew she was in the right place, whatever anyone might say. She tried to catch his eye, but he was about the only person not looking at her.
"So, you are the girl," murmured the man Andreas had approached. His figure was spidery and fragile-looking, and he was the oldest in the room by quite some margin. "I must say, you've caused us some troubles already. What is it this time?"
"The girl," Andreas said, "has somehow acquired these." He flung the bangles into the centre of the table and stepped back.
The old man looked straight up at Eleanor, his blue eyes fixed her with a piercing stare. "What is the meaning of this?"
"They're the name-bangles of the people who would've been last year's students, if they hadn't been killed in Taraska," Eleanor replied.
"She was wearing them as a belt," Andreas said. "It's horrific! How can anyone so casually make jewellery out of the identities of his – sorry, her – colleagues?"
"Baht ravh!" Eleanor said hotly, unable to restrain herself. The words were out of her mouth before she realised she'd sworn in Magrad; she'd learnt curses from the pirates though she'd no idea what the actual words meant. "There was nothing casual about it! And nothing to do with jewellery. We went to a lot of trouble to–"
She was interrupted by a loud thump on the table: Laban had slammed his fist into the wood. "Silence!" he barked. It was the first time Eleanor had heard him speak in almost three years and she hadn't imagined that his first words to her, after so long a time, would have such a fierce tone. "You will speak only when you're spoken to."
She was about to open her mouth in protest, but he shot her a warning look so clear and so urgent that she silenced her appeal before she began. She wondered how things had become so serious so quickly, but Laban looked scared, and that was something she'd never seen before.
"Andreas, you will also remain silent until we ask you to speak. If you can keep your voice level, girl," Laban continued, "you may tell us how you come to have these bangles in your possession."
Eleanor took a deep breath, and tried to keep all of her raging emotions from her voice when she spoke. "I was in Taraska last year," she said, thinking it best to start at the beginning. "I was captured – it's a long story – and imprisoned along with a Venncastle student called Raf."
A few of the men exchanged glances, but none of them spoke so Eleanor continued her story.
"After we'd escaped we went back to get our bangles, and we found all these other ones at the same time. The others were dead. Raf said we should bring the b
angles back here, so, here they are."
"Where is he?" asked a young, dark-haired man. He looked hardly older than Raf, and very like him.
"I don't know." She turned her eyes to the floor, overwhelmed again by feelings of guilt. "He was too weak to sail, so I came back to the Empire without him."
"And how did you get back?" the old man asked.
"What does that have to do with–"
He tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. "Just answer the question, girl."
"I sailed on a Magrad ship to the edge of Imperial waters, and then a smuggler's boat into Dashfort."
"The pirates aren't famed for their charity. How did you persuade them to carry you?"
Eleanor didn't like the tone that the questions were taking, or the way that they were straying further and further from the original subject, but she didn't dare to make a challenge. The look in Laban's eyes had made her sure of that; she'd never seen him scared before, and the sight had shaken her. She raised her eyes to meet the old man's gaze as steadily as she could. "I worked for my passage," she said.
"So it was just luck that you were the only survivor?" The old man had menace in his voice now. "It was pure blind luck that you – the one person we weren't expecting – managed to survive, and escape from a Tarasanka jail, and somehow buy yourself safe passage across the sea?"
Eleanor looked to Laban for support, but he gave her only a near-imperceptible shake of his head. She was on her own. She could feel her heart beating furiously in her chest; she understood what the old man was accusing her of, but she could see no easy way out.
"What exactly are you suggesting?" she asked, realising that Laban had at least given her one clue – she had to keep her voice calm and level; she couldn't afford to give anything away. And she could answer their charges more easily if she could force them to move from unpleasant implications to direct accusations.
The old man tapped at the table again. "You're asking us to believe in a lot of coincidences," he said. "There are versions of the story which seem more likely. At best, you were a captive who happened to meet some of our aspirant students, and happened to find out from them enough information to complete our tests when you returned. At worst, you were put in there by the Tarasanka lords for that very purpose, and your job here and now is to report back to them."
Eleanor held herself as still as she could manage, forcing herself not to react to the allegations – but she found herself mentally readying for a fight, assessing the shape and structure of the room while reminding herself where she'd stowed her various weapons beneath her clothes. She'd only once bested Laban in a fair fight while he'd been training her, so she knew she stood no chance against this many fully-trained men, but if they were going to condemn her out of hand then she'd take down as many as she could before they got to her.
"What do you have to say for yourself?" the old man prompted when she failed to respond.
"Does it matter what I say?" she asked. "If I were some kind of spy, do you think I'd admit it just because you asked me?"
"We'd like to hear your story in your own words."
"Very well." She took a deep breath, then launched into rapid speech: "I was born in the Charanthe Empire some eighteen years ago and grew up at Mersioc Regional School for Girls, near Port Just. I received my assignment last summer, when I was given a post well beneath my abilities, which I rejected with the aim of seeking out this place like so many before me. I completed the puzzle chamber in Dashfort, but I ended up sailing to Taraska La'on with a smuggling vessel, and some of the crew decided I was more valuable to them as a trinket to sell to the Tarasanka authorities. I was imprisoned and tortured for weeks, along with Raf, and once we were sure we'd kept them busy beyond the equinox we eventually managed to escape. We went back in to get our bangles, and also collected those of the dead boys. Raf was badly injured, and I came back here." She paused, and looked defiantly around the room. "That's my life story in short form. I'm no Tarasanka spy."
"These facts can be checked," Laban said, still avoiding looking at her. As if he had any reason to disbelieve her story!
"Then check them," she said fiercely. "I've nothing to hide. Besides, the Tarasanka lords may be brutal but they're not stupid – certainly not stupid enough to send a spy who stands out as much as I do."
The old man studied her carefully. "And you claim you made your way through the puzzle chamber at Dashfort on your own, before you met the others?" he asked.
"Yes."
"So you won't mind telling us what the number was last year."
"Forty-seven," she said without hesitation, thankful that she was blessed with a good memory.
He nodded. "We'll need time to consider this matter," he said. "Andreas, take the girl back to her room for now – she's no threat."
Andreas led Eleanor in silence back through the corridors, and to the sleeping quarters.
There were two common rooms set aside for the new students, each having five small bedrooms arrayed around it. Jorge, Frederick, Paul, Mack, and Charles had occupied the first set, and the second was for Daniel, Sebastien, Mikhail, and Eleanor, with one spare room. Andreas had his own small suite of rooms at the end of the corridor where the students could find him if they needed him – "If you stay," he added pointedly – and there was also a communal washing area. A chalk board in the corridor set out details of the timetable to which their lives would run, arranged around an eight-day cycle.
Eleanor had one of the corner bedrooms, with a narrow window overlooking the gardens. The room had a bed along one wall and a small desk and chair crammed in alongside. She tucked her bag inside the wooden chest at the foot of the bed, ignoring the closet.
She went to sit in the common room, and Sebastien came to join her a moment later – she wondered how long the others would take.
"You didn't unpack," he said. It wasn't a question. "Why not?"
"I don't have much." She didn't add that she also wanted to be able to move quickly if the council decided against her.
"Well, you can order more clothes tomorrow."
She nodded. It would be nice to have something new; the outfit she'd bought in Taraska was getting worn out but she'd been borrowing Gisele's dresses since she'd reached Almont, too preoccupied to think about replacing her own. But would the tailor really make new things for her if she was in danger of being thrown out?
They fell into an awkward silence, two people with no idea what they might have in common. Eleanor began to wish she'd stayed in her room, but it would've seemed rude to leave again so soon after sitting down.
After an uncomfortably long moment, Sebastien pulled a thin silver pipe from his pocket and began to pick out an old folk melody. Relieved of the need to make conversation, Eleanor took a moment to study the room. Aside from the five chairs, there was a small stove with a kettle hanging over it, and a low table which had a bowl of fruit and a small vase of flowers, a strange touch of frivolity in this otherwise-functional environment. A target board hung on one wall, just far enough from any of the bedroom doors to be a safe practice area, so she took out a knife and made her aim. For all that he appeared to be absorbed in his music, she was sure Sebastien would be assessing her performance, so she took extra care to look casual about it.
"Nice blade," he said as she tossed it towards the target. "That's no school knife."
"No," she agreed. "I picked it up in Taraska." She walked across to measure just how far from the centre it had stuck. The shot had been good; not perfect, but good. The point had missed the bullseye by only a finger's breadth.
Mikhail was the next to emerge from his room, and he flopped carelessly into the chair next to Sebastien. "You've had an interesting year, then, Ellie," he said with a grin.
Later she would blame the rawness of her emotions so soon after finding that Raf hadn't made it to the academy; hearing the diminutive of her name, that only he had ever called her in earnest, triggered something in Eleanor that was beyond her contr
ol.
"DON'T EVER CALL ME ELLIE!" she yelled, pulling her knife from the target board and turning the blade towards Mikhail.
He and Sebastien just stared back at her, speechless in their shock.
Daniel's door swung open. "What is happening?" he asked calmly, continuing to fold the shirt he was holding.
Eleanor looked up at him, then back at Mikhail and Sebastien. "Sorry," she said, blushing as she slipped the knife away. "I overreacted. But please don't call me that."
"You are lucky," Daniel said. "If you overreact like that near the Venncastle boys, I would be surprised if you live."
"Why?"
He'd already turned back to his trunk, so Eleanor moved across to the doorway of his room and repeated her question.
"Why do you say that?"
"Venncastle is not like your school, or mine." He picked up a pair of trousers and shook them out before folding them again and placing them on a shelf in his closet. "They think themselves very special. They think the laws of the Empire were not made for them. All very arrogant."
"You saw how they took to you," Mikhail added. "Not sure how long you'd've lasted without everyone else around."
Eleanor didn't know what to say. She wanted to tell them that Raf hadn't been like that, that Raf had been friendly and loyal and strong – but there seemed little point in making herself a target for their animosity when Raf wasn't even here to benefit from her defence. Instead, she just said, "I don't know who would've come off worse if they'd made me fight."
"Two against one?" Mikhail checked. "I know which way I'd bet. Besides, you're tiny!"
"You're not so big yourself," Eleanor said. "And they're fresh out of school. Venncastle may be odd, but they can't have had much experience of real, life-or-death fighting."
"And you?" There was a note of incredulity in Sebastien's voice that she didn't much care for.
A stream of memories flooded through her mind, but she really didn't want to have to explain. They'd probably already decided she was slightly mad. Would they really want to share their living space with someone who'd already killed? They'd all have to lose that kind of sensitivity if they were going to make any progress. "I've got a year on them," she said. "And you."
She caught the glance which passed between Sebastien and Mikhail but decided to let it pass; she didn't want to alienate them any further. Besides, they were right that the boys from Venncastle had been ready to fight her just for turning up – at least Daniel had taken a stand to protect her, whether or not she'd needed it. That made him the closest thing she had to a friend right now.
Feeling more lonely than at any time since she'd left Raf in Taraska, she turned without another word and shut herself back in her bedroom. It was easier to be alone. She heard the conversation in the common room resume as soon as she clicked the door shut, and wondered what the boys were saying about her now she was out of earshot. The pendant Raf had chosen for her felt heavy around her neck, reminding her of the time they'd spent together. With tears welling up in her eyes, she sank down on the bed and wished herself back in Taraska. I should have stayed. She brushed the first teardrops from her cheeks, but there was no stemming the flow. He must be dead. I shouldn't have left him.
She clung desperately to her pillow, trying to stifle her sobs; she didn't want to be overheard. She didn't want to have to explain.
She'd hated so much about Taraska, hated their slavery and their taxes, hated the way that absolutely everything in the country had been for sale, and yet in a way the days she'd spent there with Raf after their escape – planning their next steps and wandering invisibly in their counterfeit robes, sparring together and learning from one another – had been the happiest she'd felt all year. She hadn't realised just how much she'd been counting on seeing him again.
And now even Laban was pretending not to know her.
She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling beams and drifting between dreams and memories, until a quiet knock at the door finally disturbed her reverie.
"It is time for dinner," Daniel said, pushing the door open a fraction. "If you would like any."
Eleanor got unsteadily to her feet and followed the others back to the dining hall without a word. Again the Venncastle alumni sat together, and Eleanor found herself sat next to Mikhail on the end of the row; they ate in uncomfortable silence, and she was relieved once she'd finished and could return to the solitude of her room.
Rebellion (Chronicles of Charanthe #1) Page 16