Page 25 of By the Orchid and the Owl
“But she’s a class royal,” I said around a mouthful of scrambled egg. “Wasn’t she picked based on… I don’t know… expertise or something? Passion?”
“You would think, but Kimber’s more like the royal of bitches, if anything.”
Emelle and I clapped our hands to our mouths, but the others at the table were engaged in their own conversations, so no one besides us had heard. Still…
The young woman, a second-year named Wren, if I remembered correctly, had a black bob, strikingly slanted eyebrows, a ring glittering on one side of her nose… and exactly the kind of expression that made oh-so high and mighty people hesitate.
Before we could respond, she pushed back her plate and hoisted herself up.
“C’mon. I’ll take you guys to your first class so you’re not late. First-years always get History first thing on Mondays. I like to think of it as a special kind of torture, considering how drab Mr. Fenway is.”
Emelle and I exchanged bemused glances. Our sector’s class schedule had been posted in the foyer the night before, so we already knew that our first class was A History of the Esholian Biome in Classroom 3A, but this was the first we were hearing about the instructor. And itwouldbe hard to find the right building without a guide.
“We’d really like that,” I told her.
Wren pressed her lips together to smother a smile.
Five minutes later, Emelle and I were following her back through the dining hall, up the stairs, and out onto Bascite Boulevard, illuminated in pools of gold from the sunrise and streaming with students walking toward campus.
As we joined the flow, birds chirped at us from overhead.
“New friends, new friends, hi, new friends!”
“Hello,” I said.
“Hi, there!” Emelle called upward, positively beaming.
“Pesky buggers,” Wren said, though not without a hint of affection.
The monkeys, too, were waiting for us on campus, squatting on rooftops and lounging in the tree I’d slept in the night before Branding. I recognized the ones who’d braided my hair—something about the specific spots of fur on their tails—and waved.
This time, when they chippered back at me, I heard, “Glad to see you’re looking freshened up. We were beginning to think you had some troll blood in you.”
They shrieked with laughter, clutching each other in the tree, and I scowled. That wasmyjoke, although… at least they’d actually found it funny.
“What was that about?” Wren asked, cocking an eyebrow as we passed.
I didn’t want to explain my past sleeping arrangements, so I shrugged. “Just some silly monkeys, I suppose. Is this it, then?”
She’d stopped us right in front of a crumbling stone facility with a slanted roof, where a few steps led down to a door situated halfway underground.
“This is it,” Wren sighed. “Good old Mr. Fenway likes his must and mold, that’s for sure. Good luck, you two.”
“Thank you,” I said. I wouldn’t have wanted to be late on our first day.
Beside me, Emelle nodded earnestly, and Wren raised two fingers in farewell.
Mr. Fenway did indeed seem to like must and mold.
He wasn’t just an old man, but an old man with bags under his eyes and a hunch to his back, plus a severely receding hairline. When the rest of the class had finally trickled in and filled the fifty or so seats in the classroom, he coughed.
“Hello, children. I…” He coughed again, then thumped his chest. “I am pleased to see so many of you join the sector of Wild Whisperers.”
“Children,” Jenia scoffed to her friend—Dazmine—from two rows back. “Well, to a man on his deathbed, I guess we are.”
Mr. Fenway didn’t appear to hear, or maybe he just chose not to acknowledge her. He twined his hands together behind his back and began a monotone ramble that I was sure he’d repeated dozens and dozens of times before now.
“One thousand years ago, faeries ruled this island, their powers tending to the land in every way. Conjuring rain to water the vegetation, encouraging trees to reach their fullest height…” A cough “…and helping balance out the delicate nature between life and death among the Esholian animals.”
