French,’ I heard him say as I got up and weaved my way between the tables to the stack of square lockers in the corner of the room.
It is important in life that you are patient with those not blessed with your intellect.
But Grandmother, they ask such simple questions! I am quite sure I will die of boredom if they do not stop it.
‘I’ve never heard Sagean,’ Gwen continued, her voice meek and devoid of the flirtatious tone it had possessed before.
‘So’yea tol ton shir yeari mother ithan entha, Duchess?’
I froze, hearing my language spoken for the first time in months. Pulling the locker door open, I glanced at him. He stared at my back, his finger curled and pressed to his lips, as though pondering.
Why is he asking that? Does he not know the nature of the area? I do not speak my mother tongue because there is no one to speak it to.
I turned again to my locker. ‘Arna ar faw hla shir arn mother ithan entha, Your Highness.’
I finished, knowing I spoke in staccato and that my words did not roll from one into another like they should; Sagean felt strange to my mouth, like a second tongue was trying to grow from beneath the first.
‘Of course,’ he replied as I retrieved my bag and clicked the padlock shut. When I turned back, his cool eyes – cobalt blue – hadn’t left me. Placing my bag onto my chair, I met his gaze, raising the walls around my mind even higher to ensure he would not know what I was thinking.
I know you know, I thought. I know you know about her. And I hate you for it.
Responding to Mr. Sylaeia’s request for help handing out the new timetables, I retreated from where the girls twirled their hair and requested translations into Sagean. They giggled and commented on his accent; the fact he was a Sage, and that they feared the Sage, was forgotten.
I handed around the sheets and friends squealed or groaned as they compared schedules, exclamations of disgust erupting from those who had drawn the less popular teachers. Two year ten boys cheered, celebrating that they no longer had to study history and the three girls in the year above, year twelve, compared their free lessons, excitedly discussing how once the eldest learnt to drive they would go into town instead of studying.
I neared the bottom of the pile, coming across the cluttered timetable of ‘House of Athenea, Prince Fallon’, which was followed by a long list of prefixes and titles, the first being ‘H.R.A.H.’: His Royal Athenean Highness.
Why didn’t the school tell me he was coming? I thought, but answered my own question almost instantly. Because I never would have come back to school. They know my attendance is bad …
He barely had any frees, which was unusual for a year thirteen and when I counted up his subjects, I realized why.
English Literature, French, History, Maths, Chemistry. Five. But nobody takes five subjects at A2. He must either be mad or prepared to work insanely hard.
Knowing others were waiting for their timetables, I placed the sheet in front of him. Beneath his was my own timetable, which I set on the desk whilst I handed the remaining few out. But before the paper had even touched the wood, Tammy had snatched it up, comparing it with her own.
‘We’re in everything together,’ she informed me when I sat back down. I felt very enclosed and, with a glance around, realized most people had moved at least a foot or two nearer to us; to him. ‘Apart from GCSE French and your A level English Lit.’ She sighed. ‘You’re crazy, doing both GCSEs and A levels.’
I acknowledged that information with a nod, busy writing my name on the front of one of the homework diaries Mr. Sylaeia was handing out.
‘You’re taking A level literature, Lady Autumn?’ Fallon asked.
Tammy offered him my timetable and he took it. Still filling in my details on my diary, I watched him through my eyelashes, noting the fact he had switched to using a formal address rather than my title.
‘In that case, I believe we have that class together.’
My pen paused part way through writing my address on the inside cover. I looked up, forcing a disinterested smile, as though this was not strange; as though a prince attending a tiny, rural state school was the norm. I resumed writing, retrieving my timetable and copying it up into the diary.
‘Don’t have many frees, do you?’ Gwen commented, leaning over his shoulder and getting as close as she dared without touching the vine-like scars trailing across his tanned skin. Her hair fell on his shoulders and he shifted away from her in his chair, running a hand through his own flaxen hair.
My lips parted. That I did not expect. Gwen seemed affronted, but blessed with people skills I could only envy, she didn’t allow it to show for long as she twisted behind her and started an animated conversation with the three year twelve girls, who repeatedly looked at the prince.
My attention was snapped away as Mr. Sylaeia retreated behind his desk, writing his name up on the whiteboard. ‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome, and welcome back to Kable. I am going to be your tutor this year, and will take registration every morning, so we will be getting well acquainted. For those of you who don’t know, I am Mr. Sylaeia; that’s how you spell my name right there.’ He slammed his marker pen against the plastic board. ‘I’m half-Sagean and I’m told it’s a pain to pronounce, so you may call me Mr. S. if you wish.’
He put the pen down and picked up a piece of paper with a list of words on it, and squinted at the top. ‘So we have a new student in our midst today. Some of you might know him. It’s … er … A-athana? Athena? I don’t know, tricky name, that.’ He lowered the paper and squinted over at the prince. ‘They have a whole load of weird letters before your name. H.R.A.H. anybody? Anybody got any idea what H.R.A.H. means?’
By this time the class could barely contain its glee and burst into raucous laughter, in which the prince more modestly joined, tipping his chin towards the ground as he blushed.
‘I jest, of course. But yes, Fallon is joining us this year as another guardian to protect our school, and we should all feel very lucky to have two such powerful young Sage keeping watch over us in these dangerous times.’ The laughter had died down to a sombre silence now, and Sylaeia embraced it. ‘On a serious note: some of you may have heard about the recent local Extermino attack, and about others around the country. No doubt most of you have heard the rumours about the young kidnapped human girl, Violet Lee. You may be scared, or unsure of what this means for you. These emotions are all expected, but this doesn’t mean you should lash out, or be anything less than the decent human beings I know you all are … so please, respect the privacy of our guardians, do not view them through the light of how many letters come before their names, or view them as so very different from you. If you can let them get on with their jobs, then with fate’s grace, we will have a great year.’
Then with fate’s grace, I thought, we might survive this year.
I fastened the buckles on my bag, careful to avoid raising my eyes. The reality still hadn’t sunk in and I didn’t wish to hasten its arrival. I felt as though I could look up and he would not be there; everything would be normal and this unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach would disappear.
‘Autumn,
