The Academy (Perrault Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  “Hello?” She knocked several times.

  A muffled giggle sounded from behind the door.

  Rilla growled. They'd locked her out. Well, she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing her beg. She spun on her heel, muttering angry words to herself. Madam Florian was behind this. She could imagine the scene. The princesses wailing about soiling their reputations through association with Rilla.

  After all, wasn't that Madam Florian's excuse for not letting her ride on the coach when they had first met?

  Anger spurred her march back to the library. She could get started on her Art of Assassination assignment. She would produce something beyond the harridan's expectations and prove she had worth.

  Rilla found a hidden away alcove deep within the recesses of the library. She drafted a quick note to the prince and researched her assignment. After a few hours of diligent study, her eyes grew heavy. She rested her head on an open book, promising herself to focus on her studies, and not the gossips.

  Doctor Morgen

  Over the next few days, Rilla attempted to resolve the situation with the dormitories. She’d tried rushing after classes, to reach it before they locked the door, but it was already locked. Complaining to the Vice Chancellor only earned her further ridicule. The clerks could offer nothing but sympathy as they did not want to anger her royal roommates.

  Within the week, she resigned herself to spending her nights in the library. It gave her time to finish assignments, study ahead of classes, and maintain her correspondence with the Prince. She always kept the worst of her trials to herself, not wanting to give him anything extra to worry about.

  The routine of sleeping in the library continued for several weeks. Rilla found herself a nice cubby where, after lights out, she would lie on seat cushions and wrap herself with a thick, woolen cloak. Her marks were excellent, but her body was suffering and she was becoming weary. She was sure the librarian knew of her situation, but he, like the rest of the faculty, pretended it didn’t exist.

  One evening, Rilla put the finishing touches on her Art of Assassination thesis. She was to present it the following day. Yawning, she stretched, her neck stiff and sore. As she put down her quill, Professor Engel strolled up.

  “I must say, you’re up rather late. I hear you’re in the library all night, every night. I’ve never heard of such a diligent student. Is everything all right?”

  Rilla paused, knowing this was her chance to expose the princesses’ bullying. But would this minor triumph lead to worse treatment? In the past few weeks, Freida, Gwynter and Madam Florian had left her alone, seeming satisfied with keeping her out of the elite dormitory. Their vengeance if she got them into trouble might not be worth getting back her bed.

  She lowered her head. “Everything is fine, Professor,” she muttered, “I like to stay on top of my work.”

  The Chancellor beamed. “You may wish to speak with Cadet Hulda. Young Bruna was very much like you when she first arrived, but she’s cut down her hours and still achieves the best grades.”

  Rilla nodded. “I will, Professor.”

  The next morning, she gathered her books, left the library and went to her dormitory. As usual, she found it unlocked. Rilla washed and changed her clothes. She searched her vanity for her hairbrush but could not find it.

  A soft giggle came from the other side of the room, and Rilla turned to see Freida and Gwynter smirking at her.

  “Did you take my hairbrush?”

  “Why in the world would we want that thing?” Gwynter drawled.

  “Bianca has a new comb she hasn’t used yet. You may as well borrow it.”

  Rilla glowered at the smirking pair. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not using someone else’s comb when I have my own brush.”

  Freida snorted, “Except, you don’t anymore. Don’t you have a thesis to present? Madam Florian’s likely to fail you for looking a mess.”

  Rilla frowned and looked at the comb, and then at her mussed hair. “Why don’t you lend me your brush?”

  “And contaminate myself?” Freida chuckled, but it was a shrill, bitter sound. “While I won’t soil myself or my possessions with your common taint, Bianca wouldn’t mind. How many dwarves was she found shacked up with?”

  “Ugh!” said Gwynter. “Don’t remind me of such unpleasantness.”

  On the inside, Rilla snarled. Those two would besmirch the reputation of a fellow princess? She snatched the comb. Gwynter made a small sound in her throat, but Freida smacked her shoulder and hushed her.

  Shrugging off their childishness, Rilla pulled the comb through her hair. Its teeth stuck in a tangle, and her stomach spasmed. Gasping, she clutched her middle and doubled over. The room seemed to tip sideways, and she crashed to her knees. Laughter and squeals danced around her ears until her blurred vision turned black.

  When Rilla opened her eyes, her vision was blurry and her mind confused. She blinked, turning her head from side to side to figure out what had happened. It took several minutes for her head to clear and she found herself lying on a cot in what appeared to be an infirmary. Small glass vials adorned the shelves mounted on the wall. Skulls and other such anatomical models sat on top of piles of papers.

  On the small table next to her cot lay a folded note. With a frown, she reached over and opened it.

  Cadet Perrault,

  Since you did not present your thesis today, you have failed the Art of Assassination segment of your course. If you fail any other class, you will be immediately expelled from the Academy.

  Selma Florian

  Vice Chancellor

  A loud gasp escaped Rilla’s throat. Weeks of exhaustion and loneliness caught up in one devastating wave of despair. Despite everything she had suffered, all those hours spent toiling away, she had failed. She crumpled up the note in her balled fist and drew her knees up to her chest.

  A neatly dressed man in his forties dashed into the room, rubbing his hands on a cloth. “I’m Johann Morgen, the Academy physician. I’m an anatomist, a surgeon, a student of all things relating to medicine. It’s an ever-evolving field of work, you see. Ah, but you’re not here to learn about my credentials.”

  “I’m wondering why I’m here at all,” Rilla murmured.

  “Your friend, Cadet Autumn, brought you to me after finding you unconscious in your dormitory. It was all very fascinating. I performed dozens of tests, and the cause of your malaise eluded me. Even Masters Capello and Cazador couldn’t ascertain what ailed you.”

  Rilla’s heart stuttered at the thought of any of the tests revealing her mysterious power. She forced a neutral expression, hoping that being alive meant that her secret was still safe.

  “Don’t worry! I didn’t go so far as an autopsy.” He laughed, smoothing down his lapels. “In fact, it was a brilliant stroke of fortune that Lord Bluebeard was here on campus, visiting the Chancellor. He knew what to do when your condition became known.”

  Doctor Morgen donned a thick leather glove and held Bianca’s comb with his fingertips. “This was stuck in your hair, leaching lethal amounts of Liquid Animosity into your scalp. Imagine that! One of Lord Bluebeard’s little birds was able to fetch an antidote for you.”

  Rilla stared at him, trying to make sense of everything from the poison, the letter, to Lord Bluebeard’s help. She opened and closed her mouth, but nothing came out.

  “We asked the man to leave of course, even if he did save your life. I can only imagine your shock if you had woken, half dressed, with your betrothed standing over you. Ha! He demanded to take you out of the Academy to care for you himself, but we refused. Your virtue is safe for now.”

  A hot wave of humiliation crept up Rilla’s face, and she dipped her head. It made little sense that Lord Bluebeard would help her, considering her defiance of the man. A hysterical snort escaped her nose. Perhaps he wanted to be the one who killed her and not a poisoned comb.

  An awkward silence ensued, with the doctor staring at her as though expecting her to say somethin
g profound.

  Rilla let out a tired breath. “Has he left the campus?”

  “Yes. He also took with him the gift he’d given you. For safe keeping, he said.”

  “Gift?”

  “The curious little carved stick in your bodice.”

  Rilla frowned. How in the Seven Kingdoms was Lord Bluebeard able to even lift the quarterstaff?

  “Now,” said the Doctor. “I’m glad you’re awake, because I’m intrigued by your exploits. As an anatomist, I’m responsible for the dissections performed on campus. I’m the one who cut up the trolls you defeated and provided the samples to your Alchemical Defense class.”

  Rilla’s stomach churned at the memory of all that flesh.

  “I must say, I’ve never seen such unusual troll specimens. They were actually bruised. Trolls are some of the most resilient beings in the known world… the force required to bruise them would have been immense.”

  Cringing, Rilla tried to look anywhere except at the doctor’s scrutinizing gaze. The silence held for several long seconds before the man spoke again.

  “On top of that, I found red blood in their veins. Did you know troll blood is gray? I can’t wrap my head around this little mystery.”

  “We haven’t covered trolls in Magical Flora and Fauna.” She hoped the light that flashed from her hands wasn’t responsible for the anomaly.

  Doctor Morgen gave her one hard look before turning to mix up a concoction. When he finished, he held out a glass containing a fizzing, sunset-yellow liquid. “Drink up. This will make you feel like a new woman.”

  Rilla took the drink. Bubbles rose to its surface, making lemon-scented pops. “What is it?”

  “A concoction of Boiled Benevolence and Powdered Vitality in effervescent water.”

  She took a sip, and the liquid bubbled within her belly and she smiled. Even the small amount she’d taken lifted her mood. She downed the rest of the drink and felt ready for anything.

  That evening, before curfew, she found herself in the library yet again. She did not even attempt to enter her dormitory, never wanting to see those Royal brats again if she could help it. But as she pored over her Magical Flora and Fauna textbook, a shadow appeared over the page.

  Madam Florian stood over her, arms crossed, looking down her nose with a sneer. “We have bent the rules long enough for you. Go to your dormitory at once, and no more violating curfew.”

  Setting her jaw, Rilla glared up at the Vice Chancellor, “You know very well they won’t let me in.”

  The other woman raised an eyebrow. “Are you incapable of using your key?”

  “Don’t pretend you weren’t part of the conspiracy to lock me out of my dormitory. You once accused me of being a lady of the night, and now you think I’m after your husband, which I’m not.”

  “Perhaps you should ask Doctor Morgen for an overnight stay. It is clear you’re still unwell.”

  “I’m not going back to my room. Prin—Cadet Vern poisoned me. I don’t trust anyone in that dormitory.”

  Madam Florian scoffed, “Everyone knows not to touch Cadet Prevern’s things. Her stepmother sends her poisoned items on a daily basis. You should feel fortunate we’re not expelling you for thievery.”

  “Cadet Vern tricked me,” Rilla said through gritted teeth.

  After an awkward pause, during which the two women exchanged heated glares, Rilla spoke again. “Will you at least accept my written thesis? I did the work, and it’s not my fault security here is so poor I got poisoned.”

  Madam Florian’s cheeks grew pink and her nostrils flared like an enraged horse. “Absolutely not. And if I catch you again in the library after curfew, you will be expelled.”

  The other woman spun and flounced out of view between the bookshelves. Rilla could imagine the twisted smirk on her face. It was clear that Madam Florian was resorting to penalizing Rilla on technicalities since the Princess’s and her bullying tactics had failed to drive her out.

  She packed her things into her satchel, balled up her wool cloak and stalked out of the library.

  Rilla wandered the hallways. At this time of night, they were dark and quiet, with only her echoed footsteps providing any sound. She had hoped to run into Bruna to ask her advice on dealing with Madam Florian and Princesses. It seemed like a futile effort, but Bruna was one of the few friendly faces at the Academy.

  Writing to Lord Florian could only make matters worse, as the clerks would forward the letter to the Vice Chancellor, leading to yet another humiliating encounter. She thought about Prince Armin but immediately dismissed burdening him. From the tone of his notes, it seemed he was struggling under the pressure of additional lessons and negotiations with the representatives from Tundra.

  Rilla rounded a corner and almost bumped into Dora, one of the commoner girls in her class. Dora was a small, bubbly young woman with long, golden dreadlocks. She was holding aloft a lantern, which illuminated the five deep scratches on the left side of her face. If one ignored her disfiguring scars and blackened teeth, Dora was exceptionally pretty.

  “Rilla,” she said, “Me and the girls heard what happened to you and we feel awful. I’m glad you’re all right.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. “How did the Assassination presentations go?”

  Shrugging, Dora lowered the lantern and shuffled her feet. “They were all right, I suppose.”

  Something seemed to be troubling Dora, but Rilla ignored it for the moment. “This might seem odd, but do you have a spare bed in your dormitory?”

  Dora shook her head with a puzzled frown. Rilla sighed and explained her predicament.

  “Come with me, and I’ll see what I can do,” Dora said, and they made their way to the living quarters.

  The regulation dorm was less opulent than the royal room, but comfortable and finer than any servants’ quarters. The other two commoner girls in the class, Scarlet and Greta were already in the room. Their faces lit up when they saw her. Scarlet had a bright smile and curly, red hair, while Greta’s most distinguishing feature were the livid red burn scars on her hands which stretched all the way under her sleeves.

  After updating the other girls on the incident with the poisoned comb, Dora put her hand on Rilla’s arm. “Today was awful,” she whispered, not making eye contact. “I’m not so good at writing.”

  Rilla nodded. If it hadn’t been for all the times she’d cleaned the library during the twins’ lessons, she would have been illiterate.

  “I can read, but putting things all nice on paper’s hard, you know? I need help with spelling, too. You can sleep in my bed if you help me write better.”

  Rilla shook her head. “I’ll help you with your assignments, but I won’t take your bed.”

  Dora straightened up, lips pinched. “I won’t take charity.”

  “Very well.” Rilla smiled. “Why don’t we share? The beds are big enough.”

  Walled Orchard

  Rilla awoke the next morning feeling well rested. The stiffness in her neck and legs had gone, and she sat up and yawned. Sunlight streamed from the large, domed windows, making the whitewashed walls the color of freshly churned butter. A blonde head was nestled beside her amongst the covers, and she smiled and tapped Dora awake.

  “Ten more minutes,” the girl mumbled. “These last moments are the best.”

  Rilla laughed, pulled back the covers, and swung out of bed, exhilarated at her change in fortune. Even though she’d been poisoned and had failed Art of Assassination, she’d found herself a real bed and three friendly companions.

  Her bare feet hit the ground, and she lost her balance, landing on the edge of the bed. Gasping, she closed her eyes to stop her spinning vision. The poison wasn’t completely out of her system. With a few deep breaths, she gathered herself, realizing she’d have to take things slowly to give herself time to recover.

  Soon Dora and the other girls awoke, washed and dressed for the day. They all headed to the dining hall for breakfast in good spirits. Rilla felt li
ght on her feet, but wasn’t sure if it was because of the poison or the full night of proper sleep. It was a pleasant feeling either way.

  They took their seats at a table and fell into friendly banter as the clerks arrived to hand out mail. A package sealed with Lord Bluebeard’s crest landed beside her plate. She furrowed her brow, not having a clue what he would send her apart from another ‘my birds are watching you’ notes.

  The other girls stopped eating.

  “What is it?” asked Dora.

  “Not sure,” Rilla muttered. Within the package was a box and a letter. She gulped and unfolded the parchment.

  Cendrilla,

  You may find these things useful. Keep a closer watch on your possessions. The birds are always watching you and will help if you ask.

  Lord Bluebeard,

  Ambassador of Steppe

  Rilla opened the box. She found a silver hairbrush and matching comb, and an ornate, rectangular case made of wood. Inside lay several pencils, which made her frown. Then she spotted her shrunken quarterstaff among the items, gasped, and closed the box.

  “Who was that from?” Greta asked around a mouthful of buttered toast.

  Rilla hesitated, trying to make sense of Lord Bluebeard’s actions. “My betrothed.”

  “Lucky you.” Scarlet sighed. Sunlight bounced off her red curls, making them shine like copper. “It must be great to have someone who loves you so much, they’d pay your weight in gold.”

  “Especially my weight,” Rilla said with a smirk.

  Scarlet flushed. “Well, girls like us don’t get that much. Dora could tell you a thing or two about it.”

  “Oh?” Rilla said, turning to her with interest.

  Dora scowled, and her upper lip curled up to reveal her rotting teeth. “Yes,” she muttered. “Me and Long Don Cipriano used to have an understanding.”