Three
1485 Words
Sable
The first thing Thornvale did after I arrived was decide I was disappointing.
The second thing it did was make me stand in front of several hundred students while they watched me fail in public.
The Great Hall had five banners hanging from its rafters, each one stitched with a different colour and crest. Red for Ash House. Green for Green House. Blue for Tide House. Silver for Glass House.
Black for the royal line.
My white ribbon looked particularly miserable beneath them.
The registrar had left me at the edge of the hall with Tavia, then hurried away before anyone could ask why a village girl with no measurable magic had been invited to Thornvale. Tavia stood beside me, arms folded and expression carefully blank.
“Is the staring normal?” I asked.
“Only when someone is interesting.”
“I’m not.”
“That is not what the staring suggests.”
“I think they’re trying to decide whether I’m contagious.”
“Give them time. Someone will ask.”
A group of students in blue robes walked past us. One of them glanced at my ribbon, then whispered something to the others. They all laughed.
Tavia leaned closer. “That was probably an insult.”
“Thank you. I was worried they had invited me to join them for tea.”
“You could always smile.”
“I am smiling.”
“That is a threat.”
“It’s the best I have.”
A bell sounded above the hall.
The doors at the far end opened, and the students began moving into their house sections. Tavia was pulled toward a cluster of red-robed witches who called her name. She looked over her shoulder at me.
“Try not to set anything on fire,” she called.
“I’ll save it for someone important.”
Her mouth twitched. Then she disappeared into the crowd.
I was left standing alone beneath the five banners.
A man in black entered through the centre doors.
I recognised him immediately.
Orren Veyr moved like the hall had been built around him. He was taller than I remembered from the gates, with dark hair brushed away from his face and a black uniform fastened at the throat. There was no jewellery on him except a narrow silver ring at his right hand.
He did not glance at the students. He looked straight at me.
Tavia’s warning returned to me.
Do not give him a reason to remember you.
Unfortunately, he seems to already have one.
Orren stopped beside the raised platform at the front of the hall. The headmaster stood behind him, an old man with silver hair and a red stone at his throat. His robe was the grey of ash after a fire.
“Students,” the headmaster announced, “we have an unexpected admission this year.”
Every eye turned toward me.
I considered stepping backward. The hall was too crowded for anyone to notice until I reached the nearest exit.
The doors closed.
Of course they did.
“Miss Venn,” the headmaster continued. “Come forward.”
I walked to the centre of the hall because refusing would have made me look frightened, and I had already been called powerless. I refused to give them frightened as well.
Orren watched me approach.
The headmaster held out a hand. “Your name.”
“Sable Venn.”
A murmur passed through the room.
The headmaster did not react, but Orren’s expression changed by a fraction. His mouth tightened.
“Your mother was Maelin Venn,” he said.
It was not a question.
“Yes.”
“You are aware of her conviction?”
“I’ve had six years to become familiar with it.”
A few students laughed. Orren did not.
The headmaster’s eyes sharpened. “You have been admitted under a royal scholarship. Before your house assignment is confirmed, Crown Heir Orren Veyr will conduct an examination.”
“Why him?”
“Because his magic can expose forbidden power.”
“Then I’m sure he’s delighted.”
Orren stepped down from the platform.
“I am,” he said.
His voice was lower than I expected. Calm. Almost bored.
That was worse than anger.
The students moved back, leaving a circle around us. Orren raised his hand, and the shadows beneath the banners pulled toward him. They gathered in his palm like black water.
My skin tightened.
The spell was beautiful in the way a knife could be beautiful if somebody held it near your throat.
“This will identify any forbidden magic,” Orren said. “If you have none, it will leave you untouched.”
“And if I do?”
“Then the spell will respond.”
He sent it toward me.
The shadow crossed the space between us without sound. It moved around my wrist, then climbed toward my hand.
The first touch was cold.
The second was not.
Something inside the spell opened.
I saw the shape beneath it, lines folding over lines. The shadow was not only searching me. It was waiting for a command.
I found that command hidden in the centre.
Crush the hand if shadow power is detected.
My fingers curled.
Orren stood close enough for me to see the faint shadows beneath his eyes. He was watching my face, waiting for the moment I panicked.
I wondered how often that worked.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to scream?” I asked.
His gaze sharpened. “You are supposed to remain still.”
“I’ve never been good at being told what to do.”
The spell tightened around my hand.
Pain flashed through my fingers.
I reached for the command.
The spell surged into my palm.
For half a second, I felt something beneath Orren’s control. Not just cold or darkness. A deep, exhausted fear buried beneath the spell, pressed down so hard it had become almost silent.
Then I took the command.
The shadows snapped.
A black line raced up my wrist. The spell buckled in the air, twisting around my arm before I forced it back toward Orren.
He reacted quickly. His hand rose, and the shadows gathered between us.
Not quickly enough.
The altered spell struck his chest.
The hall vanished beneath a burst of darkness.
For one terrible second, the whole room saw what lived beneath Orren’s skin.
A black crown-shaped mark wrapped around his heart.
Its points curved around his ribs. Thin lines travelled outward from it, disappearing beneath his throat and down both arms. The mark pulsed once, like a second heart.
Orren staggered.
The darkness disappeared.
The hall erupted.
“What was that?”
“His curse.”
“Is it spreading?”
Orren looked at me.
The calm had gone from his face.
“You... you altered my spell,” he said.
“You hid a command in it.”
His jaw tightened. “You saw it.”
“I’m observant.”
“What you are is a f*****g annoyance.”
“That sounds like something people say when they’re embarrassed.”
A few students laughed again, but this time the sound was nervous.
The headmaster lifted both hands. “Arrest her.”
The order was meant for the guards at the edge of the hall.
They took one step.
The academy wards howled.
The sound came from the walls, the floor and the black glass windows above us. Every candle in the hall went blue. The banners snapped violently though there was no wind.
Orren turned toward the headmaster.
The old man’s red throatstone cracked.
Flame burst from beneath his robe.
He caught fire so quickly that for a moment he remained standing, outlined in gold and red. His hands clawed at the burning fabric. The guards shouted. Students pushed against one another, trying to reach the exits that had sealed themselves shut.
I was standing closest to him.
The headmaster stumbled toward me.
“Sable,” Orren said.
I looked at him.
His eyes were on the burning man, then on me.
“She did this.”
The words landed harder than the spell.
“I didn’t touch him.”
“You were standing beside him.”
“That is not a crime.”
“It might be for you.”
The headmaster fell to his knees.
The fire should have killed him. It was crawling over his face, into his hair and down his hands, but he was smiling.
Not screaming.
Smiling.
His eyes opened.
They were black from edge to edge.
He looked past Orren and found me through the smoke.
“Maelin Venn,” he whispered, “buried the queen beneath this school.”
Then he died.
The flames vanished.
For one breath, the hall was silent.
Guess this means goodbye to a normal life at Thornvale. Sucks to be me honestly.
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