Misfits of Aquila (Aquila's Originals 1)

Chapter 23: Outcasts, Part 2

[CW: More mockery and bullying]

THINGS IN THE boys' dormitory were particularly rowdy as everyone tried to bag the best bunks. Those who were disappointed not to be near the windows or a door frequently chose to wrestle those who'd got the best spots before them. Vhen followed Zett to the darkest, stuffiest corner and lay down on his bunk in search of a bit of peace. With quiet Zett on one side and peaceable Guto on the other, he was about as calm as he was going to get, while pillows went flying, along with boots, belt buckles and someone's shaving kit.

They were worse than a bunch of wild animals penned up for the first time. He knew about exuberance and high spirits, but this was something else. He hoped they calmed down by the time the lamps were blown out, because tomorrow was their first day of real Rider training and Vhen wanted to get some sleep.

"They'll settle down eventually," Zett promised, sorting through his bag and transferring his clothes into the chest at the end of his bed. "They always do in the end."

Vhen would have to take his word for it. Out of the sixteen boys that had been selected for Captain Stirla's squad, Vhen knew just two of them. He and Guto were the only boys from the Storm Peaks, the rest were an irregular mix of everywhere else. He might not have known the three Sutheralli students, but from the way they kept stealing glances at him and frowning, Vhen feared they might know him – or of him, anyway.

He wondered what story his family had spread back home to explain his disappearance. He wondered what the adventures of a Sun Priest's academic son would mean to three of the most warrior-looking Storm Class lads Vhen had ever seen. Sutherall was a strict land with a rigid class system. It wasn't unheard of for someone to shift down a tier – and it was almost always down, since upward mobility was near-impossible – but it was always frowned on. As the son of a Sun Priest, Vhen had been as high as it was possible to be. Training like a Storm warrior was not just a step down, it was practically an insult to both their rank and his. It had been easy to forget such things in fluid, free-moving Zvenera, but the realities of his birth were coming back to him now. Just as he was being vividly reminded of why he so rarely chose to mix with boys his own age.

A pair of wrestlers tumbled past, slamming into Zett and spilling his clothes everywhere.

Animals. Ill-mannered, clumsy, untrained animals.

"Hoo! What's this? A token from your sweetheart?" One of the wrestlers had started helping Zett pick up his things, only to stop to hold up a white shift. The lawn was so sheer the boy's hand was visible through the fabric. The dainty embroidered flowers glistened in the light as the boy held his prize aloft. "Look at this, lads!"

Whistles and whoops erupted across the room, while the boy's wrestling companion held up a dress. "Here, there's more!"

The dark red dress looked awful against the pale boy's carroty hair and wasn't improved when the idiot started capering about, clasping it to his chest and squawking some awful North Point ballad about a milkmaid and a goatherd.

"That must be some sweetheart," one of the Sutherallis laughed. "Giving away her clothes like that. What does she think you'll do, sleep with them each night?"

"I wouldn't mind sleeping with her," another of the North Point boys said, taking the dress from his ginger friend and groping at the empty waist. "A right proper armful, this one. Gizz'us a kiss." He crushed the dress against his chest, making kissy faces at the air.

Vhen rolled his eyes at their antics and caught sight of Zett. The Havian still knelt beside his clothes chest, fists clenched on his thighs, body rigid with fury. A chill ran through Vhen, even before the Etherians got involved.