Mila tugged Roxa through the crowd, to an adjoining courtyard—but not, Roxa noticed, the one they had just crossed, with the shy student that Mila had pretended not to be so interested in all of a sudden—and now they both sat with their backs against the low, sun-warmed lip of a fountain, quietly munching.

Mila didn’t seem too keen on chatting, so Roxa kept a companionable silence. This, after all, let her replay the curious interaction she had just witnessed. Roxa’s memory for detail had been painstakingly trained from a young age. She only had to see something once to set it in her memory with crystalline clarity. Roxa used this ability to her advantage now, perusing the replay again, looking for the details that would add up into meaning, meaning she could use to unlock the mystery of her dark-eyed roommate.

The first thing had been Mila’s body stiffening, just a little. She’d followed Mila’s attention to the student, then double-checked because...it didn’t make any sense. Mila had acted as if she’d recognized the person...and yet, there had been no recognition in either of their eyes—of this Roxa was quite certain. Instead, Mila’s gaze had seemed intensely searching. And all Roxa had caught from the boy was the look of a startled deer, a look she’d seen many times before, bursting into a clearing at the head of a hunt.

The obvious conclusion was that Mila had been smitten by this stranger. But that didn’t add up, both with the way Mila had stiffened and with what Roxa knew about Mila’s tastes. Well, with what Roxa preferred to think she knew about Mila’s tastes, maybe. She chanced a sideways glance at Mila, who was staring distantly ahead, seemingly lost in thought. Roxa could admit to herself that she was more than a little jealous of how Mila had fixated on the boy. After all, Mila had never looked at her that way.

Anyways, the point was, Roxa had the scent of something, here. She just didn’t know what. The question was, should she pursue it, in the face of Mila’s clear attempt to hide its meaning and significance?

Absolutely not, screamed the fresh, expansive part of her that was reveling in her newfound freedom from the stifling, predetermined path set out for her. Her heart felt sick at the thought of throwing away this chance to have a real friendship, of reverting to the ways of the court, with its pressures to think of people as instruments, to always consider the double-meanings of appearance and the way a relationship or a gesture would look.

But another part of her asked, ever so slyly, was this even a real friendship? Mila clearly didn’t trust her. Trusting someone who didn’t trust you wasn’t actually trust, but naive self-delusion. What good was her noble intention towards Mila if it wasn’t even acknowledged, much less reciprocated? And so was she throwing anything away, after all? It would be ridiculously easy to seduce or intimidate that willowy, shy boy sometime and extract information at her leisure until she understood why Mila had been so interested in him. And Mila would never have to know...

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

But Mila would find out, the other part replied soberly. She would find out, because Mila was at least as clever as Roxa, though with less advantage and farther from home. She wouldn’t be able to stop Roxa, probably, but she would find out and then their comfortable silences and cute, flirty banter, which they both seemed to enjoy, even enjoy considerably, would be crushed, and replaced by stony and veiled silence like a wall. The thought made Roxa’s insides ache with grief, and this more than anything made her decision.

She looked over at Mila and opened her mouth to say, warmly or teasingly, something—or rather anything, anything at all—to get Mila to look back at her and quirk the corner of that serious mouth up, just a little.

Instead, there was movement above them and abruptly they were cast into shadow. Standing over them, silhouetted against the sun, were several senior Stormcroft girls. They were all bedecked in the latest fashion from the capitol—sharp waistcoats and tall boots, all severe lines and slashing cuts. Roxa recognized the foremost of them as Penelope Caul, one of the House Prefects and a top-ranked sorcerer in Roxa’s own classes. Roxa thought she was beautiful in the way that a venomous snake is beautiful—classic Imperial beauty standards, finely formed features, all sleek and coiled poise.

“Countess Monir,” Penelope inclined her perfectly coiffed head politely at Roxa and ignored Mila entirely.

Roxa rose to face her, tamping the urge to shade her eyes from the glare of the sun. That’s my mother, actually, Roxa wanted to snark back at her.

Instead, in the same careful tone, she said, “Prefect.”

Mila, clearly caught off-guard, was still on her knees between them, hurriedly gathering her things to beat a quick retreat.

“You should really be more careful of whose company you keep, Countess. While the likes of this,” she jerked her pointed chin contemptuously at Mila, “are in a race for the cubicle with the best view, you and I are being marked on more than just our test scores.” She leaned in closer to Roxa. “To be frank, being seen with this mutt will besmirch you. We and others of our caliber ought to stick together, don’t you think?”

Roxa laughed in her face. “Well, look at you, milk-breath, you found some clowns to dress up and pretend to be your friends.”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed and there was an explosion of gasps and whispers from the aforementioned clowns. Roxa heard Mila groan in dismay but Roxa wasn’t paying attention. She was giddy with rage. She was in hot, exhilarating, towering ascent. She was distantly aware that she didn’t always say the smartest things when her temper flared, but the awareness was so very distant—

“Tell me,” said Roxa, almost sweetly, “are you being marked on how clean you lick each others’ boots?”

Then several things happened very quickly.

Mila, arms full, tried to rise. Her gaze was fixed on the cobbles, head bowed, her movement already aiming her away from this disaster as quickly and discretely as possible.

Penelope’s eyes flashed spitefully and the ozone stink of sorcery blossomed as her fingers crooked. Mila’s squeak of surprise was abruptly cut off as the spell cinched around her throat and yanked her back—

Roxa growled and sliced her hand through Penelope’s leash spell, dissipating its strands with a quick counter. Mila stumbled and barely caught her balance, then squeaked again as Roxa grabbed her and stepped in front of her, shielding her from Penelope. Mila was bent double, gasping for breath.

There were scarlet flickers at the edge of Roxa’s vision. She squared up to Penelope like a boxer and took a single stride closer, and the promise of violence in that step was as abrupt, implacable and heavy as a glacier. Penelope took a hasty step back, into one of her followers, and stumbled.

“Don’t touch her,” Roxa snarled.