Page 13 of Daughter of the Ninth Line: Part Two

Avalon

It was not all that uncommon to see a conscript walking around with their arm in a sling. We were training to be soldiers, after all. However, the amount of stares I was garnering had little to do with the sling and everything to do with the Heir to the First Line having carried me through the halls of the War College like a damsel.

That was it—the only reason the event was worth the gossip. There was no mention of Eugene and his hissy fit. No talk of how I’d almost died. My only value to these people was as a focal point for speculation. There were two prevailing rumors.

One, which seemed to be the most obvious, was that Vox Vylan was fucking me and had grown attached. I almost snorted at this one.Unlikely.

The second rumor was that I was the Baron of the First Line’s ill-begotten love child and that’s why Vox—the normally cold-as-ice prince—gave a crap about me. Again, equally preposterous. Though, given the rumors I’d heard about the Baron of the First Line, it was likely that he did actually have more than a few affair children roaming around, but I wasn’t one of them, for which I was eternally grateful. My father had made my life a misery, but I couldn’t imagine having to live out that nightmare beneath thecollective gaze of the Court of Fortaare and all the leeches who hung around Ebrus’s seat of power.

No, the preposterous part of that rumor was that the Baron would give a fuck about the wellbeing of any of his illegitimate children.

In all of the speculation, however, no one had suggested that perhaps it was just because Vox was a kind person. That he’d carried me to the healer out of the goodness of his heart. That made me kind of sad for the Heir to the First Line.

On the plus side, my instructors had excused me from combat training for a whole week. I felt like I should send Eugene a thank-you card for that unexpected boon. It was like a holiday from life. I still had to attend battle strategy and history lectures, though, attempting to make notes with my left hand. I’d have to commit most of it to memory, because the notes were illegible.

At the moment, I was trying not to fall asleep as Instructor Tryelle told us about the history of Ebrus before the Line segregation, back when we’d been warring tribe factions rather than a united country.

The feeling of tiny nails against my socks was all too familiar now. Dropping my pen as an excuse, I reached down and held out my hand for my little black-and–white mouse friend. It had been my almost constant companion since I was injured, hanging out in either my collar beneath my hair, or in one of my pockets, unless it was off doing… whatever mice did.

Epsy liked the mouse too, which was a relief. I was fairly sure rodents were Epsy’s main food source, though the other day I’d caught him eating a head of lettuce, so maybe I knew nothing about what stolts ate.

But the mouse in my collar and the stolt in my pocket seemed to have an understanding. Although I was fairly sure that Epsywould’ve eaten at least a hundred of the mouse’s family line, they seemed to have come to some kind of truce.

Or maybe it was just wishful thinking, and Epsy would feel like a midnight snack one day and I’d wake up to no more mouse friend.

No, not a friend. A spy. I had to remember that this mouse was one of Hayle Taeme’s animal companions. However, as far as spies went, this one was freaking adorable.

Instructor Tryelle was looking at us with something that might be aggrieved disappointment. “I know you’re out here living your best life, swinging your swords like the past doesn’t matter, but just know that we do have a library where you could do your own research. There is a lot to learn from the past that could help you well into your future.”

I was probably guilty of this. I knew we had a library here in Boellium, and normally, that would be the first place I’d go, but I hadn’t managed to do anything except eat, sleep and train in the few weeks since I’d arrived. I’d barely gained my footing, and I expected that until I was a lot stronger, I wouldn’t feel anything but perpetually exhausted. Maybe my forced combat training hiatus meant I could check out the rest of the campus, including the library.

The instructor excused us, and it was time for my favorite part of the day: dinner. I’d never been so hungry as I had in my time at Boellium, the extra physical exertion making me constantly starving. But that was only a small part of why I loved the food here.

The college didn’t differentiate between the different Lines when serving the meals, and the tastes of the Upper Lines were far more finicky than the Lower Lines, which meant I was trying foods I would never have tasted back home. Like ice cream and pistachios. Like cuts of venison so tender, they melted as they hit my tongue.

The spoiled Upper Line conscripts complained if the same thing was served more than twice in the space of a month, so it was also varied. I wasn’t the only person who enjoyed the easy access to food, even if it did come with a side of snide humiliation from the Upper Liners like Ephily.

I was disheartened to see that today’s meal was some kind of soup; not the easiest thing to eat with my non-dominant hand, but I’d just get an extra bread roll and soak it up.

As soon as I stood in the food line, Epsy disappeared into the kitchen. “Epsy!” I hissed, but the damn stolt didn’t even look back. He was going to end up at the business end of a cleaver, if the cooks caught him. He wasn’t a very smart creature, and I could only hope that the kitchen staff thought he was part of the Third Line and would be too scared to throw him in tomorrow night’s stew.

The mouse in my collar had more sense, just burrowing in deeper so no one could see it. I slid my tray along the smooth bench, using my good hand to shakily ladle soup into the deep well carved into it. I would be glad when the sling came off, even if my collarbone still ached. Tonight’s dinner was going to be messy; I could predict it now.

None of my Twelfth Line friends had appeared at their table yet, since they were probably still at combat training. Putting two bread rolls onto my tray, I ignored the jibes of the girl from the Sixth Line, calling me a fat ass. I doubted they’d say that to the guy in front of me, who had two bowls of soup and three damn bread rolls, even though we were all working just as hard in battle training.

No, the real reason was that a fraction of the women in the college weren’t here to be soldiers—they were here to create alliances, preferably of the marital variety. Where better to get close to the Heirs and Upper Lines than in this microcosm of our society?

Those conscripts were all thin, svelte, ball ready at any moment.Fuck that.I wanted to not pass out during training, which meant I was going to eat two bread rolls and probably come back for some of that cake sitting at the end of the long benches.

I looked over my shoulder and smiled at the Sixth Line girl with far more teeth than would be considered polite as I added a third bread roll to my tray. I would just take it down to my dorm later if I didn’t eat it. Making the point was more important.

Heading over to my empty table, I balanced the tray precariously with one hand and breathed a sigh of relief when I didn’t drop it all over myself. My good arm was now aching from taking on the bulk of today’s tasks, and as I lifted my spoon to my lips, I shook, spilling most of it off the side.

Dammit.This was going to be slow.

Scooping up another spoonful, I lifted it again to my lips, but this time, I felt something cool wrap around my wrist, a band of air that I felt as physically as if someone had grabbed me with their hand. The air gently maneuvered my wrist toward my mouth, and the spoon sat there at my lips, waiting for me to sip the soup from it.

I didn’t spill a single drop.

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