Pennyroyal Academy (8 page)

“This institution was founded, in part, to help girls like you understand the monsters that roam our world. It is my hope that I shall dispel many falsehoods that have no doubt been forced upon you since birth. To the detriment of humanity, fairies have somehow become the keepers of stories. They are notorious dullards, with memories like houseflies.” The class tittered nervously. Unlike Beatrice, Volf made no attempt to keep his personal feelings hidden. “This is why you hear such nonsense as singing axes and dancing mules and other mindless rubbish in our princess stories.”

He stopped, leaning on Malora's desk with a desiccated hand. She scowled at it as he patted his forehead with a handkerchief, composed himself, and resumed his slog around the classroom.

“In the pre-princess era, witches roamed the land with impunity. Children disappearing into the night, never to be heard from again, was simply a fact of life. The people were powerless against this dark magic, and life was quite . . .
horrendous
for those who survived. Princess Pennyroyal, the first of the great princesses, discovered the power that courage and compassion can have over the black heart of a witch—incidentally, you must read her story, which you'll find in the third of my thirty-seven-volume series on princess history . . .” He stopped, lost in his thoughts, then shook his head, a memory gone. “But I digress. As I said, Princess Pennyroyal then founded this Academy, where she began training others in the art of courage and compassion. This led to a period known as the Long Sunrise, when witches were banished deep into the forest, no longer free to terrorize the people. And this is how princesses first became the Great Shield to the world.

“It also provided the first recorded instance of witches using organized tactics against princesses. As they were driven from towns and villages, they quite brilliantly began bewitching the forests behind them, filling them with living magic to make it more difficult for a princess to follow. This, of course, is where we get our modern-day enchanted forests.”

Quills worked feverishly around the classroom, but Evie just sat and listened and let this incredible history bloom inside her head. In only a few minutes' time, this man had vividly painted an entirely new universe that she had never known existed. Her world up until now had been limited to a small patch of forest, with occasional trips across the mountains. But to think that epic battles had been fought, new techniques had been discovered, heroes and villains had been forged and vanquished . . . It was thrilling.

“From there, we enter the Years of the Missing Sun, when Pennyroyal Academy expanded its scope and began training knights to battle the other great menace of the day: the dragon.” Evie wrote the word
menace
on her parchment, then scowled at it. “And then the Classical Princess Era, where a sort of stasis emerged. Princesses and witches developed strategies and counterstrategies to battle one another. Princesses honed courage and compassion, witches fear and confusion.

“And these,” he stopped at the front of the class, slowly turning to face them, “are the building blocks of all witch tactics. Fear and confusion. You,” he said, looking down his nose at Anisette. “Name for me a witch tactic, if you please.”

“Urm,” she said with a shrug, “stepmother, maybe? Wicked stepmother?”

“Indeed, indeed. The wicked witch thrives on deception, and a grief-stricken patriarch is her perfect quarry. Marriage allows her entry into a family, a castle . . . perhaps even an entire kingdom.

“I should note that this technique is still widely used. And that is because we have never been able to crack it. The witch, you see, has no heart. So her intrusion into the affairs of the heart often creates a sort of blind spot. Tell me, do any of you know, in the absence of a heart, where a witch's dark power resides?” Only Maggie's hand went up, and Volf ignored it. “In her eyes. Has any of you ever looked into the eyes of a witch?”

Evie's fingernails began to dig into the palms of her hands. She would certainly not volunteer her experience, a moment of utter cowardice that she had survived thanks to a boy in a cage and a mountain of luck.

“Quite right, because had you looked into a witch's eyes you would most likely be made of stone now, wouldn't you?” He chuckled as he started up Evie's aisle, though his laugh sounded like a dying man's cough. “The witch has a whole host of evil magic inside her, of all different stripes. One allows her to disguise the horrific depravity in her eyes. She makes good use of this in the wicked stepmother technique.”

His feet shuffled to a stop in front of Evie's desk. He removed a pair of spectacles from his pocket, unfolded an ivory handle, and held them to his eyes.

“You there, name a fairy tale that features a wicked stepmother.”

Evie's face went hot and red as the moments clicked by. She heard Kelbra snickering behind her.

“Any will do, Cadet, any at all.”

She glanced at Maggie, who gave her a look of encouragement, but she might as well have tried to encourage water from a desert.

“Are you bloody serious?” said Malora.

WHAM!
Cadets jumped as Anisette's fist slammed against her oaken desk. She glared at Malora, who looked back with a challenging smile.

“Ladies, please. In this classroom, you will remain silent unless otherwise instructed.” Volf turned back to Evie, peering through his spectacles as though she were some sort of rare bird. “Cadet, am I to understand you're unfamiliar with the story of the young girl whose wicked stepmother wouldn't allow her to attend the ball?”

Evie's eyes bored into a swirl of wood grain on her desktop. She wished she could disappear inside of it.

“My dear, if you are unfamiliar with Cinderella, perhaps it's time to reconsider your future here at the Academy.”

He didn't send her away, and the class continued on for what seemed an eternity, but Evie didn't add one more word to her parchment.

Later that night, after pushing food around her plate all through supper, then trudging back to the barracks across dew-soaked Hansel's Green, she sat on the edge of her bunk and stared at the floor, at a single red stone mortared amidst all the gray. Around her, cadets prepared themselves for sleep, cracking their necks and stretching their sore muscles before collapsing into their bunks with exhaustion. Her friends had orbited her all night, but at a distance, as though they wanted to comfort her but didn't know what to say. And now, as torches began to go dark, Maggie crept over.

“All right, Eves?”

She nodded, but didn't look up. Maggie gave her shoulder a light squeeze, then went back to her bunk. When every torch except her own had been extinguished, she raised her pewter snuffer and held it over the flame. It flickered and dimmed as she starved it of air, then went black. She sat back down on the edge of her bunk and stared into the darkness.

S
HELVES OF DUSTY
old books lined the walls. Even more sat in precarious stacks atop a strained oak desk, littered with parchments and quills and wax sticks and other paraphernalia belonging to the most powerful woman at Pennyroyal Academy. Or the second most powerful, if the Queen really was hidden up there in the clouds that swallowed her tower.

“Cinderella,” said Princess Beatrice, staring out a panoramic window at the south end of campus. Down the hill and across the plain sprouted the black-green edge of the Dortchen Wild, with endless forest beyond that. All of it beneath a cloak of sagging silver clouds. She turned to scrutinize Evie, who sat in a chair on the other side of the desk, then looked back out the window.

Evie had awoken that morning perched on the side of her bunk, which she supposed was an improvement over the footboard. Anisette shook her awake moments before the Fairy Drillsergeant burst in with blustery shouts to get up and get moving. At least she had been spared another round of that abuse. But before she could leave the barracks with the rest of her company, Princess Hazelbranch stopped her. And when she saw Lieutenant Volf waiting outside, his spine hunched and crooked, she knew her time at the Academy was most likely finished.

He had escorted her here, to the office of the Headmistress, then retreated near the door, where still he stood. Princess Liverwort was there as well, lurking in the dim shadows near the end of one of the bookcases. Everyone kept silent, waiting for the one voice that mattered, that of the imposing woman in gold standing at the window.

“Have you ever been to the sea, Cadet?”

“I . . . I don't know . . .”

“Of course you don't.” A triumphant shout sounded from somewhere deep in campus. “There is a stunning piece of technology you'll find there, at the more modern harbors, called a mast crane. By its own particular magic, it can lift things ordinary men cannot. Spokes, cranks, flywheels . . . Somehow this collection of parts works in concert to create the most majestic sailing ships the world has ever seen.” She turned to face Evie, her eyes somehow cold and fiery at once. “Each piece of the machine must operate as intended or the whole thing grinds to a halt. I look out over my Academy and everything is, indeed, operating as intended. Yet here in my office sits a piece that just doesn't fit.”

Evie flinched to hear someone of such authority confirm her fear.
I know I don't fit, but you didn't need to say it.

“I understood from the beginning that the Queen's new enlistment policy might lead to some bumps in the road. But how . . . ?” She came around the desk and loomed over Evie. “How is it possible to have drawn so many years of breath and never heard of Cinderella? It's like not being able to name the rain or sky!”

“Let us not forget that memory curse, Headmistress,” wheezed Volf.

“Oh, spare me, Lieutenant. Girls with cursed memories forget their ages or families, not the name of our most beloved princess.” She took a deep breath, then sat on the edge of her desk, knocking over a small pot of ink. “Blast!” Liverwort moved to clean it up, but Beatrice held up a hand and froze her. “Reports have come in from the Infirmary regarding another curious incident involving you, Cadet Eleven.”

“It's Evie, ma'am. Cadet Evie.”

“Good, well, at least you'll take something with you from your time here. Tell me, what happened in the Infirmary?”

“I . . . I don't really know. I was looking at all the statues and animals and things, and—”

“Show some respect. Them's people with curses,” snarled Liverwort.

“Yes, of course, I'm sorry. But I wasn't really doing anything at all, when this pig started following me. It wouldn't leave me alone. It started screaming and thrashing about and . . . I don't know what happened, but suddenly it was a boy.”

“And it is your contention that you'd never seen Prince Forbes before that instance.”

“Never.”

“Mmm . . .” She moved some sealing wax sticks out of the path of the slow-moving ink. “Although your role in curing a cadet of such respected pedigree was indeed helpful, your astonishing ignorance is not. Perhaps we might consider that curing Prince Forbes was the reason the Fates brought you to us.”

“But . . . that can't be right . . .”

Beatrice stood and swept around her desk, where she picked up a quill and fished through the clutter for a specific parchment. Liverwort took the opportunity to begin sopping up the ink. She found the parchment Beatrice was searching for and handed it to her.
How can someone as poised and impressive as Princess Beatrice have such a mess for an office?
thought Evie.

“Cadet, my task this year has been made infinitely more complex by the fact that I must now sift the Warrior Princess from the rest of the silt. You, if you'll forgive my frankness, are silt. Therefore, I see little reason for you to continue on here at the Academy.”

“That would've been my advice, too, Mum,” said Liverwort.

Beatrice scrawled her signature across the bottom of the parchment, then looked up as though surprised to see Evie still sitting there. “You have been discharged. You may go.”

“No!” shouted Evie, surprising even herself as she sprang to her feet. Any thought of caution was viciously drowned in adrenaline. “You can't send me away!”

“You little whelp!” snarled Liverwort, creeping forward. Beatrice again raised a hand to stop her. Liverwort glared at Evie, but retreated to her position near the bookcase.

“I understand how difficult this must be,” said Beatrice. “You've traveled a great distance to come here and are no doubt intoxicated by what you have so far seen. But once you're home again, you'll find that—”

“I don't care if I'm a bloody Warrior Princess or not, but I can say for certain that I'm not here just to help some poxy prince!” Her green eyes flashed with righteous anger. “I didn't know what a princess was until I came here, that's true. I didn't know until you said it the other night. And had I understood it meant fighting witches, I never would have come in the first place. But if you're telling me the only reason the Fates brought me here was to turn that pig into a prince, then you'll stop me from ever knowing the real reason.” She hadn't expected any of this to come out, but she couldn't bear the thought of her own future being tied to someone she had only just met, someone who had been walking on four legs only hours earlier.

Beatrice dropped her quill into an ink-stained cup with a clink. Her lips were pursed, her eyes sharp. Evie couldn't tell if she was deep in thought or fighting the urge to leap across the desk with strangling fingers.

“Please, Headmistress,” she continued, softening her tone. “I know I don't know much, but I do know compassion. And I've—” She choked on her words, but forced herself to spit them out. “I've seen a witch. I looked into her eyes and I know that fear, and I don't ever want anyone to feel it again.” The three little girls from Marburg flashed through her mind, dancing with such innocence and joy. If protecting them from the horrors she had felt in that cottage meant staying here to face her greatest fear, then the price was fair.

Beatrice turned in her chair and looked out the window at the slithering clouds. “To have never even heard of Cinderella . . .” She trailed off with a cluck of her tongue, the thought too absurd to finish. She looked to Lieutenant Volf, who kept his eyes fixed on the crossed wooden beams of the ceiling, unwilling to take a stand.

“I take my stewardship of this institution very seriously. I understand well the burden of greatness I must require from each and every cadet who passes through my doors. When the Queen decided to accept commoners, I agreed without question. But I also made a promise to the great princesses who had come before that I would not make special allowances for anyone, despite our desperate situation with the witches. And yet here I am, in the very first week of term, doing just that.”

Liverwort gasped.

“You may stay, Cadet.”

“Thank you, Headmis—”

“Perhaps you're right. Perhaps there is a bigger reason the Fates brought you to us. But if I'm right, and your purpose has already been served, then we shan't be seeing much more of each other, I'm afraid.” She held the parchment over a candle until it began to blacken, and a small stripe of flame climbed across her signature. “Having little experience with the lowly of birth, I am quite curious to see what lies inside of you, buried beneath untold layers of curses.”

Evie nearly ran down a second-year instructor, a young woman with dark features called Princess Moonshadow, as she raced through campus toward the Infirmary. After apologies and angry looks, she continued on, and so did her smile. Yes, she would be allowed to stay, and she was thrilled about that. But the thing that had so energized her on leaving Beatrice's office was that she had found a way to stand up for herself.
I may yet be sent away, but at least it will be because I'm not good enough, and not because I was too scared to try.

She sprinted around the great bowed wall of Skymeadow Mews, which echoed with the cries of the Academy's hawks. At the far end, a gust of wind hit her with the must of centuries of bird droppings, but even this didn't dampen her spirits. Nothing could bring her back to the earth . . . until she reached the Infirmary and saw another of Princess Wertzheim's bitter red potions waiting for her.

“Must I drink another? Nothing happened last time.”

“Three times in four this treatment works for restoring missing memories. But it can sometimes take many, many doses, I'm afraid.”

Evie fingered the vial, then shut her eyes and downed it in one gulp. “It tastes like blood,” she said, wiping her mouth.

“Oh, come now,” said Wertzheim, “there's very little blood in there—”

The mournful wail of a horn echoed through campus. Everyone fell silent, save for the ducks and one barking dog. Wertzheim shot up, clapping her hands in sharp staccato.

“Everyone on your feet! I want absolute silence when they arrive. You, move those geese away.”

Evie rose in confusion. Nurses scrambled about, clearing a path through the cadets and animals near the stone archway framing the doors. The horn bellowed again. She glanced around, but everyone else seemed as confused and shaken as she was. Then, across the room, her eyes met Prince Forbes's. He had been staring at her from his place with the cursed knight cadets. Uniformed in black and with two days to readjust to life as a human, he appeared rugged and hard, a youthful composite of all the portraits of knights hanging in the castle's rotunda. Patches of dirt marred his humorless features. A long scratch of dried blood ran down his arm. She quickly looked away. Why was he staring at her like that? After the embarrassment he had caused her the other day, she would have been perfectly happy to never see him again.

The doors groaned open, and a blast of wind scattered some parchments. The nurses stood still and tall, and the cadets followed their example. A handful of princesses entered, girls only a few years older than Evie. They were battered and bloodied, their tunic dresses torn and stained. Two of them carried another on a handmade canvas stretcher. Her eyes were closed, a hand draped over the side flopping with each step. Each of these princesses had a haunted look on her face, and Evie knew it could only have been put there by a witch.

“This way, princesses,” said Wertzheim, her voice just above a whisper. “Come through.”

The princesses trudged across the room toward an archway in the back, the private chambers Forbes had been ushered into after his transformation. Evie studied their faces as they passed. The weariness and loss sent a shiver through her, yet there was something else there, too. Something behind the horrors they had seen.

Goodness.
It was the first and only word that came to mind. These were quite simply not ordinary girls; they were
princesses
, and they possessed a grace and nobility that shone through any physical wounds.

They disappeared beneath the archway with several members of staff. Slowly, the remaining nurses coaxed the cadets back to their treatments, and normality returned to the Infirmary. Evie dropped to her chair, despite having already drunk her potion. The eyes of those princesses lingered in her mind, as did the fire that so clearly burned behind them. For those few brief moments, she thought she could actually see the courage, the compassion, the kindness, and the discipline that the Academy taught.

She was so consumed by her thoughts that she hadn't noticed the corners of her vision beginning to darken. She stared at the lattice of cobblestones at her feet and thought of those burning eyes. And then she saw less and less, and then blackness . . .

“Cadet?” The word wobbled through her mind, and she realized she couldn't breathe. “Princess Wertzheim, over here!”