Frostwing Academy | ONC 2024

7 - School of Hard Knocks

My body flushes with heat and I rush towards the bathroom. I hate this peasant boy, I hate the gryphon, I hate the circumstances that brought me here.

But I'll be damned if anyone sees me cry again.

I slam the door shut and dump the flying gear and mango on the floor and stare at it. I've never worn such ill-fitting garments in all my life—least of all, pants.

"Twenty-five minutes left, duchess!" that insufferable boy calls out.

Fuming, I quickly use the toilet, then haul my nightgown over my head and kick it into a corner. I find a bottle in a cabinet above the sink labeled analgesics and pop a tablet to ease my throbbing headache. There's a crude bar of soap resting on the bathtub and I sloppily wash up in the sink, the cold water making goosebumps spring up on my arms.

I reach for the white undershirt, then remember Professor Valeron telling me the brassiere comes first, then the shirt. I thought it ridiculous then and now to put a supportive undergarment on bare skin. As Rob continues to count down the time, I wiggle into the brassiere, toss on the loose-fitting shirt, then jam my feet into thick woolen socks. I attempt to keep my bloomers on, but I quickly find out that no amount of swearing prevents them from bunching up when I pull on the pants. So I'm resigned to use the small, thin underwear Frostwing Academy provided. The fur-lined jacket follows and I spit curse words that would make the saints blush as I struggle to properly belt and hook everything closed.

Finally, I plait my hair, stuff gloves into a pocket, grab the mango, and exit the bathroom.

Rob looks up from the doorway. "Fifteen minutes. Get your boots and let's go."

I take a step forward and instantly miss the freedom my skirts afford. Pants are too restrictive, too ... masculine. I fear I shall be chaffed in several uncomfortable, intimate places before the day is out.

"Why is it so cold in here?" Rob asks as I fight with the boots.

"I couldn't find the gas knob," I tell him, jaw aching as I wrestle with the bootlaces.

The boy snorts. "We don't have gas here, duchess. Too expensive to pipe up. Didn't Professor Valeron show you how to use the crystals?"

They're under the staircase, but that's all I remember. But I'm not going to admit it to Rob.

"Stop calling me 'duchess'," I hiss, tying off the laces.

Rob shrugs. "Whatever. Let's go."

I grip the mango. "But—" Isn't he going to let me eat? I can't bite into this thing like an apple, for saints' sake.

"No 'buts'. We're going to be late." He then dares to grab me by the wrist and drag me out of the apartment. My boots drag ineffectually on the stoop and I stumble as Rob tosses me ahead before turning to close the door.

Two gryphons wait outside. One is Pol, the other is a smaller, slim female with pale lavender feathers, shaggy grey hindquarters, and dark blue eyes. The female gryphon's ear tufts perk up when she spies me.

"Hi! I'm Mora!" she exclaims brightly, thrusting out a foreleg.

Unprepared to have five sharp claws thrown in my face, I take a step backward. Instantly, the female gryphon's ears fold down and she drops her leg. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Startle me? She nearly took off my nose! I press a hand to my throat and take a deep breath. My first day has not gotten off on the right foot.

Rob makes a disgruntled sound. "Forget the introductions, Mora. We don't have time." He begins walking without so much as a look back.

Mora snorts, then turns toward me. "I apologize for my partner's rude behavior."

"No, you don't," Rob calls out.

Mora rolls her eyes but makes a motion with one foreleg. "We better get going."

I glance at Pol, but the red gryphon seems intent on avoiding eye contact. I've no idea where to go, so I have to follow her.

We leave the courtyard and make our way down to the training grounds. The whole way there, Mora keeps up a steady stream of chatter. I barely can get a word in edge-wise, which is a good thing, since I have no intention of divulging any personal information. But I do find Mora to be too personable, too upbeat, to be Rob's partner. There were a few girls in my social circle like that back home. I wonder what made Mora choose to be this rude boy's partner in the first place.

A group of children and their gryphons are sitting in a loose pack in front of a low wooden platform when we reach the training grounds. A few heads turn as we approach, and then the pointing and nudging begin.

Yes, here I am—the geriatric new student.

"Head on over," Rob states flatly, jerking a thumb at the group. "We'll be back to grab you for lunch."

Lunch.

My stomach takes the opportunity to growl. My eyes widen and I press my free hand to my middle, hoping to quell the improper sounds.

"Here, give me that," Mora says. I look over at the lavender gryphon, who extends a deadly paw, pad-size up. "The mango," she prompts, taking my hesitation for confusion.

I drop the fruit into her paw—wait. That's not a paw.

It's a hand.

Almost.

How did I not notice this before? Mora's foreclaws, although avian in appearance, are arranged like a human's—four "fingers" and a "thumb" that delicately maneuver the mango and slice it into quarters. She pops the pit out and flicks it onto the ground.

"Here you go."

I hold out my hands automatically, and Mora dumps the quarters into my waiting palms. I stare at the fruit, then up at her.

"Good luck," the gryphon says with a smile before getting up to join her partner.

All of the children and gryphons are staring now. It's now or never. With juice dripping from my palms, I inhale a piece of fruit, barely chewing before swallowing. By the time I reach the group, the mango is safely in my belly.

Just in time for a large shadow to pass overhead.