Frostwing Academy | ONC 2024

7 - School of Hard Knocks

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Hey! Get up!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I jolt awake, my heart hammering in my chest. Gripping the front of my chemise with both hands, I turn towards a shaft of sunlight streaming through a gap in my curtains. A dark figure stalks back and forth by the window before pausing to knock on the glass for a third time. Have the bankers finally come to collect?

"Oh, come on! I know you're in there!"

A roaring headache rips through my temples and I groan, remembering where I am. "I'm coming," I call out hoarsely, throwing back the heavy quilts, and exposing my skin to the chill of the room. Shivering, I grab my dressing gown from where it hangs on the back of a chair and put it on, fingers struggling to tie the belt.

I stumble to the front door, undo the locks, and yank it open. A tall, well-built young man wearing those atrocious brown leathers stands on my doorstep, arms crossed. His head jerks around. I might consider him fairly handsome, if not for the scowl, close-cropped brown hair, and stubble. Does Frostwing Academy not supply their young men with razors?

"Took you long enough," he grumbles in that distinctive burr I've come to associate with the locals and gryphons.

I hover in the doorway, one hand pressed to my aching temple. A yawn stretches my mouth and I take a shaky step backward. Between the unfamiliarity of my lodgings and strung-out nerves, I had a difficult time falling asleep last night.

And I never remembered how to turn up the heat.

"What?" The word falls from my lips in a groggy whisper.

The man shakes his head and pushes past me, walking straight into my bedroom. The sheer audacity of his action jolts me awake. "Excuse me!" I call out, gritting my teeth against the heavy pulse in my temples. I reach him as he begins pulling items off the desk near the door and throwing them onto the bed. "Excuse me, sir! You can't go barging into a lady's quarters!"

He pauses, fixing me with a hard green stare. "There aren't no ladies here, least of all you," he retorts, unearthing those dreaded flying leathers from beneath a pile of clothes.

I grip the belt of my robe, color rising to my cheeks. "H-how dare you!" I splutter.

"Did you even set your alarm?" he continues, walking over to my bed and grabbing the tarnished clock off the dresser. My mouth opens, but he preempts me, saying, "Obviously not. I bet you're used to waking up whenever you please." He shakes the clock for emphasis before setting it down. The bell chimes pitifully.

I've had enough. "How dare you come in here and insult me? You do not know me and I certainly do not know you."

Those hard green eyes narrow and he thrusts the flying leathers at me. "Rob McAlliston. I drew the short straw."

My arms automatically come up to catch the bundle and I bump up against the doorframe. "Short straw?"

"Yeah. I'm your mentor." His mouth twists the word as if it's dirty. "Now, hurry up. We've only got thirty minutes before class starts."

I glance at the clock sitting askew on the dresser. Seven-thirty. Class starts at eight. "I haven't eaten breakfast yet."

"Poor you," Rob replies disdainfully. He pulls an oblong, apple-sized fruit from his jacket pocket and tosses it at me. "Eat on the go."

I swerve, catching the fruit on top of the pile of clothes. A mango. He's tossed me a bloody mango.

"Clock's ticking, duchess," Rob says, pointing at the bathroom door.