Crisanta Knight: The Severance Game

CHAPTER 1 BEGINNINGS-4

The ropes were unraveling and there wasn’t time to stop them. Seconds later, pounds of pink curtains were cascading on top of the orchestra, followed by screams and crashing symbols. The cellists’ chairs toppled off the stage. Flutists took each other down like dominos.

One of the swinging curtain ropes flung a cluster of hooks at a sector of stage lights, knocking them out of their intended vectors. And as if the universe’s premier planners had orchestrated this embarrassment for an exhibition of their finest work, one of the spotlights was redirected to the backstage area—directly at me.

With many overhead curtains having knocked down orchestra members, and several side curtains that had been previously shielding me on the ground too, a perfect window of visibility was created. It was narrow. But it was enough.

I held up my hand to shield myself from the blinding glare. In doing so I caught a glimpse of the last person I wanted to see.

Lady Agnue.

She was across the ballroom, dark brown hair in a tight bun and wearing a blood-red dress with long sleeves and elegant ruching. The crowds separating us were thick and disorderly. Nevertheless, even if it was just for a second, it was unmistakable that she saw me too.

“Crisanta Knight!”

I dashed back into the shadows where Snow White Jr. was still concealed. Without thinking I grabbed my axe from the ground, transformed it back into a wand in mid-run, slid down the banister of the stairs, stuffed the wand in my boot, and slipped out the door.

My boots and natural quickness allowed me to merge back into the ballroom crowds without drawing much attention to myself. Some people may have heard Lady Agnue call out my name, but I had moved with such swiftness that I doubted that more than a few had seen me slide out the door.

In that continued gait of stealth I inconspicuously but hurriedly darted in and out of the gown-clogged sections of the dance floor. The poofy dresses, combined with the confusion and sheer number of students in the room, were my allies as I maneuvered across the area. But I knew their concealment wouldn’t last forever, because that’s when I heard Lady Agnue’s voice.

She was talking to a teacher about fifteen feet away. I could just barely hear her over the other students, and I could just barely evade her line of sight as I hid in the shadow of a tall prince with red hair and big coattails.

“When you find her, bring her to me,” the headmistress snapped. “I do not care who her mother is, she will be made an example of.”

I felt myself gulp as I slowly backed up.

“Crisa,” someone whispered from behind.

I spun around, panicked. Thankfully it was just Jason standing next to the snack tables. He’d picked up the edge of one of the floor-length, deep purple tablecloths and was gesturing underneath it. “Hide,” he said.

I zipped over to him. The two of us ducked beneath the tablecloth. I scooted toward the wall on the other side of the table, but Jason stayed on his hands and knees.

“I’m gonna go draw some attention on the other side of the ballroom,” he said. “Buy you time to think of a plan.”

“I already have a plan,” I responded. “Dig a hole through the floor, escape on wild Pegasi, and live a long and healthy life as a traveling acrobat.”

“I meant more along the lines of a story you can tell Lady Agnue to lessen whatever punishment she’s plotting.”

“Yeah, I know. My plan just sounds so much more feasible.” I knocked my head against the wall with a groan. Eventually I sighed. “All right. I’ll think of something. I always do.”

“Good. So like I said, I’ll go buy you time.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” I protested. “You’re not in any trouble and you haven’t done anything.”

Jason smiled at me. It was a goofy, sympathetic, boyish smile. “I know,” he said. “And neither is how I want to end my first day.”

He scooched toward the tablecloth’s draping barricade.

“Jason . . .”

He paused and looked back at me.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Crisa. I am. You’ve been dealt a bad hand. What kind of person would I be if I just let you crash and burn?”

“An unscathed one,” I replied.

He shook his head of unruly blond hair. “A selfish one,” he corrected. “I may not know anything about being a hero or a protagonist yet, but I’m smart enough to know that neither would turn their back on a friend.”

Jason ducked beneath the tablecloth and disappeared before I could fully appreciate the statement.

For the next minute I sat lost in thought. Had I just made a friend? Could it honestly be that easy? This kid hadn’t known me for more than an hour and was offering me his trust like we’d been pals for ages. It was confusing, but if he actually was for real then maybe that’s just what we would end up becoming—pals for ages.

However, the part of me that was always on guard made me think that the odds of this were very, very slim.

I looked up quickly when I saw the tablecloth rustle as a small hand began to lift it anew.

“Jason?” I whispered.

The hand pulled up the tablecloth. It wasn’t Jason.

Snow White Jr.’s head peeked beneath the tablecloth. My mouth hung open with surprise and dread. She stared at me curiously. Her giant gray eyes blinked; her expression showed no signs of emotion. I truly expected her to call out for Lady Agnue or Madame Lisbon or an equivalently responsible adult. But much to my surprise, she didn’t.

She looked over her shoulder—checking to make sure no one was watching her—then without invitation or explanation ducked below the tablecloth and joined me.

Snow White Jr. sat across from me and put down her checklist and the small, sparkly purse she’d been carrying. I watched her elegantly straighten the wrinkles out of her pure silver gown so that its shimmering fabric lay gracefully enough to be painted for a portrait.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Straightening my gown,” she replied. “You never want silk to wrinkle. It would require a steamer to return it to normal.”

“No,” I said more pointedly as I pointed to the spot of ground between us. “What are you doing here?”

“I gathered you could use some company,” she responded.

I crossed my arms. “Even if that were true, why would you want to provide it? I just caused a major catastrophe, took out the orchestra, and ruined the first ball of the semester.”

The increasingly hard-to-read princess shrugged without worry or judgment, as if I’d just told her I collected stamps or something. “That was an accident,” she stated simply. “You are my roommate; I am hardly going to avoid you because of one mistake.”

“Well there are plenty of other reasons to avoid me. Haven’t Mauvrey and the other princesses spoken to you yet? You must’ve heard the rumors about me being a trouble-making, weapons-loving princess who can’t sing, can’t curtsy, and basically doesn’t belong here.”

“I have,” Snow White Jr. nodded.

“Well, don’t you think I’m weird?” I asked.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted. “But who says that is a bad thing?”

Um, pretty much everyone I’ve ever interacted with.

We stared at each other without saying a word. It was like a cat meeting a dog for the first time—two creatures entirely different in nature and perception sizing each other up, deciding whether or not they could accept the other’s dissimilarity.

I crossed my legs and sat up a bit straighter, as uncomfortable in my dress as I was in this situation. The commotion outside continued, so I still couldn’t get out of here. But I wondered if braving a run for the ballroom exit would be less awkward than continuing to sit under this table. I focused on the barricade of tablecloth intensely, like I was trying to see through it.

“Your name is Crisanta Knight, is it not?” Snow White Jr. asked, startling me.

“Um, yeah,” I responded hesitantly. “But I go by Crisa. And you’re Snow White Jr.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “But I go by SJ.”

I raised my eyebrows. “SJ? Really?”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“No,” I replied. “It’s just not what I expected. Kind of . . . unconventional.”

“Says the princess hiding beneath the snack table.”

I allowed myself a slight smirk. “Touché. Although technically you’re hiding under here with me.”

SJ glanced around at the enclosure then let out a slight huff. She got onto her knees and grabbed my wrist with one of her hands. “Not for much longer,” she said. “Come on, no more hiding. We must face Lady Agnue sooner or later, so it might as well be now.”

“I don’t know, later sounds like a pretty compelling option,” I countered, pulling my wrist away. “Besides, what’s all this ‘we’ stuff? I’m the one in trouble. Whatever consequences are out there, I have to face them alone.”

SJ sat back, meeting my gaze. Studying her now, I no longer saw coldness. She may have been polished and proper—an inherently flawless Legacy like Mauvrey—but there was something unique about her. I saw a deep kindness in her eyes, which had been evident the moment she’d popped her head under the table and hadn’t judged me.

For whatever reason, SJ was willing to accept my flaws right out of the gate, no questions asked. Moreover, despite barely having met me five minutes ago, it seemed she was willing to stick her neck out for me too.

“You will not have to face the consequences alone,” she said decidedly. “I shall tell Lady Agnue that the accident was my fault as well. That we are both to blame for what happened.”

Part of me thought I’d heard her incorrectly. Confused words stuck in my throat like cotton wool. I pushed my hair behind my ears and leaned my head on the heels of my hands.

A strange wave of apprehension set in.

Growing up, I had never had any good friends. Not fitting into your designated slot in a world defined by archetypes and stations made your life a study in isolation and spurn—the combination of which taught you to never truly rely on anyone.

This made me tougher in a lot of ways. It also made me unafraid to be bold and take chances. But whether you think this was a character-building way to grow up or a lonely one, it was what I had gotten used to. Which was precisely why SJ’s kind gesture felt as foreign to me as it did unbelievable. Things never worked this way. People never worked this way.

“SJ, I—”

“You can thank me later,” SJ interceded, a little unexpected sass in her tone. “And do not worry. I will not tell anyone about your wand either.”

My heart stopped for a second. I’d forgotten that she’d seen my wand—seen that I had it and seen it transform. Instinctively I tried to scooch away, but my back was already against the wall. I had nowhere to go.

SJ saw my reluctance and sighed. She picked her handbag off the floor and opened it. Within its silver-lined interior I saw a crumpled quill, several wrinkled pieces of parchment covered with scribbled thoughts, and a few small glass vials with cork stoppers. Each of these vials was filled with some kind of colorful liquid. The instruments struck a chord of familiarity, and I realized I’d seen similar (albeit empty) vials on my tour of the school.

“Did you get those from the school’s potions lab?” I asked.

“I did,” SJ responded. “I have a weakness for potions study and sought special permission from the potions professor to work on some experiments in between orientation activities.”

“SJ, schoolwork before school even starts—”

“She said no,” SJ interrupted.

“What?”

“I suppose I understand,” she continued. “Giving a ten-year-old permission to mix chemicals in a laboratory is hardly something a responsible teacher would do. It is not as if I could provide her with proof that I have been studying and practicing potion formulation in the basement of my castle for two years.”

“I don’t understand.”

SJ closed her purse. “I love making potions, Crisa. And I am very good at it. But I have never had the opportunity nor the means to develop my skill without being judged. And while I know students here are not permitted to take potions classes until our second year, being in that potions lab today, I was just so excited that I am afraid I could not help myself. In between tour groups I mixed these anyways. They are harmless—just some height and hair-coloring potions I read about in a book last month. But the chance to use such wonderful equipment and refined ingredients . . . I am ashamed to say it was too great a temptation to pass up.”

“SJ,” I finally said. “That’s some could-totally-get-you-into-trouble stuff and . . . you don’t even know me. Why are you telling me this?”

SJ got back on her hands and knees, scooped up her purse and checklist, and made for the edge of the tablecloth. “Well,” she said, “I suppose I trust you, Crisa. Now the question is, will you trust me too?”

That night I had done something quite opposite my nature. I’d trusted someone. I’d trusted SJ. And as a result, we’d forged the beginnings of a vibrant friendship—one that continued to grow in the years that followed.

It seemed that SJ and Jason had been meant to be my good friends from the beginning. And when Blue eventually enrolled at Lady Agnue’s, she too earned an immediate spot in my heart when on the very night of her arrival the two of us got mixed up in an adventure involving underground troll poker and unicorn vomit.

Over the years the three of them had consistently been true in all aspects of their word and friendship. Even as recently as this afternoon in Century City, they’d demonstrated what an unstoppable team we could be when we worked together.

This made the growing compulsion I felt toward keeping secrets from them pretty conflicting. On the one hand, doing so made no sense. They were my best friends. On the other hand, I didn’t like the idea of increasing the vulnerability I was already feeling by sharing it with other people.

I guess I needed time. I needed to think. I needed . . .

Well, firstly I needed to get off this Pegasus. I was starting to get a serious butt cramp.