Rilla glanced around the classroom, surveying the nodding students. How many of them would condemn her if they discovered her strange power?
“Stand up, those of you who have survived an encounter with a witch.”
Greta stood, along with two young men. The General turned to them. “Cadet Esben, share your encounter.”
Esben ran his hands through his blond curls. “A witch wanted to kill my brothers when we stayed at her house. I tricked her into murdering her own daughters by putting my brothers’ nightcaps on the girls’ heads. Not long after, I met another witch with two daughters. I killed the girls myself, and the witch was so grief stricken that she transformed into flint. I stamped on it and killed her.”
Rilla gaped at him from her seat with a mixture of horror and disbelief. Had he admitted to killing children without cause, and to killing a witch who didn’t even mean him any harm?
“And you, Cadet Roland,” barked the general.
“I was betrothed to a girl whose stepmother turned out to be a witch. She tried to curse us both one day in a rage, and we ran for our lives into a field. Then my betrothed transformed me into a pond and herself into a duck, and her stepmother went right past us. She changed us back to our human forms, and I got suspicious.”
The class laughed. Rilla slumped in her seat, dreading what he would say next.
“When her stepmother rounded back, my betrothed transformed me into a fiddler. I played, and the witch danced until she died. Then I turned the instrument on my betrothed and got her to waltz to her death. I still have the fiddle, but can’t play it no more.”
A few people snickered at that, but Rilla sat still as a corpse, her eyes wide. Perhaps Lord Bluebeard’s concerns for Rilla at the Academy were genuine. These people were without mercy.
Greta cleared her throat, but the General shushed her with a wave of his hand.
“We have another student who will share her story. I think you will all find it enlightening.”
Something heavy coiled in Rilla’s belly, and she dreaded what would happen next. But when Bruna stepped forward from the back of the class, she smiled.
The General ushered her to the front and nodded. “Cadet Hulda, please share with us your account of surviving a witch.”
“When I was about six, an old woman and her daughter abducted me from my bed. They took me to their cottage and made me work as their servant, cooking and cleaning while they developed their spells. If I disobeyed any orders, they'd turn me into a mouse and let their cat chase me around.”
Rilla flinched. The witches were worse than Mother and the twins.
“Go on,” said the General.
“One day, an injured soldier came to their home, needing a place to stay. They wanted to kill him and take his gold. I didn’t want the soldier harmed, so I picked a donkey cabbage and sliced it into the witches’ stew. They turned into donkeys, and I sold the animals to the local miller. The soldier turned out to be a Captain in the Army, and he brought me here to the Academy.” She gave the class a dazzling smile.
The General grabbed her arm. Bruna squeaked. Everyone else gasped.
“What Cadet Hulda left out,” he shouted, “is that the witches were her mother and grandmother. We’ve been watching her for the past year, and so far she’s been clever enough to hide her powers, but the secret is out, now.”
Bruna blanched and trembled. “That’s not true. I remember my mum, and she wasn’t either of the witches. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“That’s exactly what a witch would say to get out of trouble. Cadets!” he shouted. Several students from Bruna’s class stormed in and surrounded the poor girl.
Two male cadets restrained Bruna by each arm. Rilla recognized one of them as Prince Marcassin from ‘none of your business’ who she had met at the ball. His piggy eyes glinted with a sadistic glee, and he snapped his crooked teeth. Bruna struggled against them like a panicked deer trapped in the jaws of hunting dogs.
Rilla stopped breathing, even though her heart raced. Her hand twitched toward her staff, but she restrained herself. She wouldn’t be able to fight the older cadets, the General and whoever else would try to stop her from escaping with her friend.
Bruna sobbed. “I’m not a witch!”
Dora sprang to her feet, eyes blazing. “Let her go. You can’t do this.”
“Are you siding with witches, now?” The General narrowed his eyes and sneered.
“Of course not,” she spat. “Witches killed my family, and they tried to kill my friend’s brother.” Dora pointed at Greta, who gasped with loud sobs, covering her mouth with scarred hands.
“Silence!” General Cazador roared. “Cadets, take this filth away.”
The other students dragged Bruna out screaming. Rilla could only watch in silent horror, her eyes bulging, pulse echoing in her ears. On the inside, she screamed, desperate to help. Her hand closed over her shrunken staff and she longed to vault the table and fight. But she could not. Her secret and its possible repercussions held her back. Her mind darted to Lord Bluebeard’s devastated face when he lost his battle to keep her out of the Academy.
To Rilla’s surprise, even the Princesses seemed horrified by Bruna’s arrest. Gwynter stood, chin tilted at an imperious angle and said, “Was that necessary, General?”
General Cazador stepped forward and lowered his eyes to meet Gwynter’s.
“I would be careful if I were you, Cadet Hibern,” he growled.
Gwynter’s lips trembled. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“I may begin to think you’re in league with that witch, the Snow Queen of Tundra. Your kingdoms are only separated by the Frozen Sea. Who knows what does, or doesn’t, pass back and forth between the two?”
A muscle twitched in Gwynter’s jaw, and she sat back down, her eyes like shards of ice. She said no more, but Rilla felt a twinge of respect for her for trying. It was more than she herself had done.
“Does anyone else have anything to say?” the General asked, his gaze on Rilla.
Her stomach churned with self-loathing and she shook her head. She felt as useless as the time she didn’t intervene when Lord Bluebeard beat Jack. The lesson soon ended after that, with the General stating that they’d at least learned how to detect and apprehend a witch.
Later, the atmosphere at lunch hung heavy as a rain cloud. No one gossiped, no one laughed, no one even dared to speak above a whisper. Most people, including Rilla, weren’t eating. Tears flowed down her face and splashed into her barley soup. She’d been selfish. Bruna was one of the few people to have shown her kindness, and she’d failed her, all to hide her own secrets. The shame was unbearable… as was the fear for Bruna’s fate.
Rilla glanced at the Chancellor, who sat at the head table, his face down turned. He seemed to have a fondness for Bruna, and Rilla wondered if she could use it to plead for her friend. If she presented herself as a younger student losing her academic mentor, he might be more willing to listen. She could not risk being accused of sympathizing with witches.
Rilla stood and made her way to the head table, but Madam Florian stepped in her path.
“How petty are you?” hissed the Vice Chancellor. “After this morning’s events, he has no time for complaints about your thesis. Get back to your seat.”
“But—”
“Now!”
Rilla gathered her courage, ready with a retort. But when she looked over Madam Florian’s shoulder, the Chancellor’s seat was already empty. Fuming, Rilla sat back with her friends and blinked away tears of anger.
“What were you trying to do?” whispered Dora.
“I don’t know. But whatever happens, I will get Bruna back.”
Ogre-Fairy Alliance
The next day at breakfast, Rilla couldn’t eat her porridge. Thoughts of Bruna’s capture had plagued her all through the night and into the morning. She kept glancing over at the head table for her chance to speak with the Chancellor, but he wasn’t there. Anxiety gnawed at her
insides like a bothersome rodent. The longer she delayed, the bigger the danger to Bruna. She could take the wait no longer and stood.
“Where are you going?” asked Dora.
“To find the Chancellor. He might be able to help Bruna.”
“It’s worth a try.” The others wished her luck, and she left the dining hall, making sure to avoid Madam Florian’s malevolent gaze.
When she reached the Chancellor’s office, he was sitting at his desk, looking over some papers. A frown creased his features, and he rubbed his temple, yawning. He sat up when he spotted Rilla and held out his hand.
“I know what you are going to ask, and I’m sorry. It’s outside my scope of influence to pardon or intervene in the detention of witches.”
Rilla opened her mouth to protest, but the Chancellor added, “Or those suspected of witchcraft.”
Rilla’s shoulders slumped, and her stomach dropped. The Chancellor coughed and looked down at his papers. “What will happen to Bruna?”
“Cadet Hulda will be tried. If she’s not a witch, the tribunal will acquit her. The innocent have nothing to fear from the process.”
“But what if she’s the child of a witch and didn’t know?” asked Rilla. “That wouldn’t be her fault, and if she’s never used magic and wants to fight for the Kingdoms, that's got to be good, doesn't it?”
The Chancellor set his papers on the desk and peered at Rilla for several seconds. Then he inclined his head. “Such cases are rare, and I couldn't guess their outcomes, if I’m being honest.”
“Can I visit her?” Rilla asked, wanting to at least tell Bruna that she’d tried.
“I’m afraid not, Cadet. Suspected witches are not permitted visitors except for an advocate for the tribunal.”
“I see.” Rilla bowed her head.
“On a more positive note,” he said. “I have overturned your Art of Assassination thesis failure. Considering the circumstances, I find Madam Florian’s actions unreasonable.”
Despite her relief at getting a second chance, Rilla couldn’t muster a smile. “Thank you.”
“Yes, well. In future, hand in your assignments to me or my clerk.” The Chancellor pulled at his collar. “You should get on to your first lesson now. I’m sorry about your friend, but these are our ways.”
Unable to say anything further, Rilla dipped a quick curtsey and left his office. She hurried down the stairs and through the hallways, wiping her tears.
Rilla arrived at the field outside the main building for her introduction lesson to Armed Combat. It was the first day of practical weapons training, and the class lined up, showing the first signs of excitement since before Bruna’s arrest. The instructor was a tall, carrot-haired woman clad in light chain mail armor. She stood by a table laden with an array of bladed and long-distance weapons.
“Attention, cadets,” she said as Rilla approached the class. “My name is Molly Whuppie and I will be your instructor for Armed Combat.”
The two princesses whispered and giggled.
“Frieda, pay attention in my class, dear,” said the instructor.
The Princess smirked. “Shouldn’t you introduce yourself as Molly Vern?”
Rilla narrowed her eyes. As there was no family resemblance between the two, she could only assume that the instructor had married one of the Princes of Vern.
Madam Whuppie shook her head with a fond smile. “Today’s practice is with real weapons, and the risk of death or injury is high. As such, you will be putting on extra armor.”
The Princesses, for once, were actually paying attention. Several men appeared on the field bearing pieces of armor in all sizes in shapes. They fitted everyone within minutes. With leather guards on her forearms, shins and shoulders, Rilla straightened, ready to practice formal combat skills at last.
“Your goal is to master a bladed weapon,” said Madam Whuppie. “Pair up and practice with a weapon you think you can handle. It may take a few tries.”
Rilla eyed the swords on the table. She found rapiers, long swords, short swords and broadswords. There were a few she didn’t recognize, but she spotted a curved scimitar, much like the one Lord Bluebeard preferred.
“I claim you,” Dora said to Rilla with a wide grin. “This should be fun.”
They both selected their swords and took positions opposite each other. As soon as Madam Whuppie blew a whistle to start, Rilla realized that swordsmanship required a grace she did not possess. She swung the weapon, feeling like an ogre wielding a club, compared to Dora, who danced and spun like a March hare. Several students stopped their own practice to watch the spectacle. Rilla was certain many of them were now questioning the validity of her exploits.
After a few more humiliating efforts, Rilla put down the sword and looked over the projectile weapons. She picked up a sling, which she had seen used by shepherds in Serotin. After loading it with a stone, she swung it a few times around her body and aimed it at a target in the distance. With a flick of her wrist, the stone hit the center of the target with a loud crack.
The next time, Rilla put more strength behind the sling, and her stone smashed through the target.
“Cadet Perrault,” exclaimed Madam Whuppie. “Indulge me for a moment and try some other weapons.”
Rilla picked up the bow and its quiver of arrows, she notched the weapon and pulled it taut, releasing her shots with grace. She hit the target every time. Dora, Scarlet and Greta clapped and cheered.
Madam Whuppie flushed, making her skin clash with her ginger hair. “Cadet Perrault, I have never seen such skill from a first cadet. With the right training, you will be formidable indeed.”
For the first time since joining the academy, Rilla felt pride in her accomplishments. Her insides warmed with confidence, and she took aim at yet another target.
Freida darted under Rilla’s arm. Rilla stepped back, but it was too late. The other cadet slashed her short sword across Rilla’s middle, ripping her leather corset and grazing her skin.
Everyone, including Rilla, gasped.
Freida turned to Madam Whuppie and smiled. “While archery skills are important, they’re useless in close combat, which is the point of today’s practice, is it not?”
The instructor’s face clouded for a second, but straightened into a blank mask. “It is.” Her voice was hesitant, words slow. She turned to Rilla. “We will discuss honing your archery at another time. For now, please try the broadsword.”
Rilla’s good mood soured. She dragged her feet to the table and lifted one of the heavy weapons. Dora was ready for her again, quick on her little feet as ever, but Rilla’s technique was as awful as before.
“My goodness, now I know you took credit for Lord Bluebeard’s heroics,” cried Gwynter. She doubled up with laughter. “You couldn’t defeat a suckling pig, let alone a band of trolls.”
A hot rage surged up Rilla’s belly, and into her arms. She had to stop and catch her breath, fearing now more than ever the sudden appearance of her mysterious power.
“That’s enough, Cadet Hibern,” snapped Madam Whuppie. “And Cadet Perrault, don’t fret. We will find a close-range blade that works for you.”
After the class was over, Rilla was still humiliated and crestfallen. She walked back toward the main building, hoping a hearty lunch would lift her spirits.
The Art of Abduction class later that day was as theoretical as ever. Rilla suppressed a yawn and wrote detailed notes. The Chancellor stood in front of the class, tapping his map of the known world.
“Now, this abduction formed the basis for the ogre-fairy alliance. Nineteen years ago, the ogres abducted Evander, the Crown Prince of Elphame. It took eighteen months of negotiation for the Fairy Queen to agree to a peace treaty.”
Professor Engel described how the ogres had sailed on flying ships, powered by witchcraft, to the Highlands of Elphame. He told them how infiltrators had used fairy iron to subdue Prince Evander and take him back to Steppe for imprisonment in the Domed Palace.
“R
umors suggest that it was Prince Evander and the Ogre Princess who brokered the agreement which secured his freedom. We have not seen the treaty, but know one of its stipulations was that the ogres would not consume people protected by a fairy godparent.”
Rilla scowled. The fairies should have made the ogres stop eating humans altogether.
“Strangely enough, Prince Elphame returned to Steppe several months later to receive the Crown of the Realms, which we believe, the ogres fashioned as a token of apology for having abducted him.”
Although she could hear Professor Engel’s words and was jotting down the notes, she really couldn’t see the point of such a history lesson. The Chancellor was a nice enough man, but he never taught them anything they couldn’t learn from a book.
“According to our spies,” said the Chancellor, “this Crown of the Realms has unknown powers and is the focus point of the treaty. Once we find it, we will break the alliance and secure our Kingdoms from the threat of magical foes.”
Rilla continued writing, knitting her brows together. She did not understand why anyone would want to break a peaceful alliance that had endured for a decade and a half. The humans protected by the treaty would become fodder for ogres again. She wanted to ask about this, but remembered the injustice Bruna had suffered due to the Kingdoms’ unfair laws. Instead, she slumped in her seat.
The Chancellor gazed around the classroom, scratching his head.
“Is there any particular reason I can’t hold your attention today, Cadets?”
“Yes,” Gwynter snapped. “We want to know what happened to Cadet Hulda. Her arrest was upsetting and most unnecessary.”
The Chancellor sighed and ran his fingers through his thin hair. “As I explained to Cadet Perrault this morning, the matter is out of my hands. The courts will acquit her if she’s innocent.”
Freida and Gwynter glared at Rilla. She stared back at them, her hand fisted around her quill. Did they, after poisoning and slandering her, expect Rilla to report back to them? If they tried to make trouble after class, she’d be ready with some choice insults.
The Academy (Perrault Chronicles Book 2) Page 10