CEL

Before entering the academy doors for the first time, Daddy had whispered into Cel’s ear: If someone tries to hurt you, and Nora cannot stop them, protect yourself however you can. Burn them. Burn everything. Do what you must to live.

Those words ring through her head as she walks down the crowded hallway to her first class, her head held high. Her new combat boots squeak against the checkered purple-and-white tiles. The tough leather digs into her heels and ankles painfully. Her new uniform feels stiff and just a little itchy. Nora walks beside her, their arms brushing. Cel’s jealous that she got to wear whatever she wanted to school, but Nora’s muscular arm draws as much attention as her partial one. People are looking, and they’re not looking kindly.

Cel starts glaring at those who stare and whisper to their friends. The first time she hears them whisper Busuruli, she wants to charge at the speaker. Their words might not be in negative judgement, but they make her angry all the same. What right do they have to say anything about Nora?

“It’s fine, Cel. I expected this,” Nora whispers to her once they’re settled into the first classroom. They sit in student desks. Cel picks a seat close to an emergency exit, the front right seat. Her feet don’t even touch the floor. Nora sits in the desk beside her, to her left, as the other students filter in. Cel and Nora sit in silence, anticipating the instructor’s arrival. When he finally strolls in, the students all go quiet. Cel’s mentally preparing herself to pay attention when he stands next to a blackboard at the front of the room and sweeps his gaze over the students.

“Good morning, class! You....oh.” His gaze locks on Nora first, then darts to Cel. “Ah.” He comes closer to them, and Cel feels the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

This won’t be good.

“You go stand in the back.” He gestures to Nora dismissively, who frowns in return. “You aren’t here as a student, so there’s no reason you should take up a desk. These seats are for students only.”

Cel fumes, her skin heating as she starts to get up and yell at him, but Nora’s faster. She hops out of her desk and pushes Cel down by the shoulder. “Remember the rules,” she hisses.

Cel bites her lip and relaxes very slightly.

Nora nods and wanders off to stand at the back of the room. She props herself against a row of shelves and affects a bored expression.

Cel is livid. She wants to dig her fingernails into the instructor’s stupid face, even when he turns a warm smile upon her.

“And you must be General Cendrillion’s daughter. It’s quite an honor to have you aboard, Celosia.”

“It’s Cel,” she snaps, her arms crossing tightly as the other students begin to whisper in excitement.

“Cel, then, though when you reach fifth year, you will adapt to using last names to address your comrades.” He nods as if he has said something terribly impressive, then returns to the board and faces the class at large. “I am Sergeant Beaufort, your regulations instructor. I will teach you everything you need to know to be successful at Nuageux Academy.”

This at least, Cel can handle. She mellows out as he starts droning on about rules and regulations. By the end of class, she’s tired.

“Well, that was boring,” Nora says, rubbing her eyes as they traverse to the next classroom. It’s a few buildings over. “I guess I may as well stand in the back in all the classes, just to avoid trouble.”

Cel growls, “Do some squats or something. Maybe then they’ll let you sit down.”

Nora laughs and brushes off her concern. “No way. I can’t draw too much attention to Teacher will make me stay home and study your history books again. It’s not a big deal, Cel. I’m usually on my feet most of the day anyway. At least I won’t get lazy, right?”

Cel grimly accepts this. The second class is a basic history class. She glances over the syllabus and surmises that she knows all of it already. She even finds a mistake on page three, so she points it out.

“This timeline is wrong. Fort Chitir existed before the floods, not after,” Cel says after raising her hand. This at least is something she’s come to understand. You raise your hand when you want to speak.

“Incorrect,” the instructor says in a patronizing voice that makes Cel squirm in her seat. “Fort Chitir was built roughly four centuries ago.”

“But there are older history books that mention it existing upwards of seven hundred years ago.”

I own three of them, she doesn’t add.

The instructor’s mouth parts. She looks baffled. “How old are you, Miss Cendrillion?”

“Ten,” Cel says flatly.

“Ten,” she repeats in disbelief, “and you are this well read?”

“Cel is very smart,” Nora says proudly from the back wall, making the woman flinch.

“I can see that. Please keep your thoughts to yourself,” she tells Nora primly, then turns a stern look on Cel. “Do not read ahead.” When she turns back to the board and continues talking, Cel’s stomach does a strange twist. She gets the sinking feeling that school isn’t going to be fun after all.

It may, in fact, be a nightmare.