A Dreadful Thing

10: FROM POISONED BLOOD

TEN: FROM POISONED BLOOD

Arden

There was a new student at Bilarthus Academy.

Naturally, Bilarthus received new attendees every year, but it was odd for someone to arrive several weeks late, and odder still for them to begin in their second year. Arden didn't know if the student was a transfer or simply a late-starter; she didn't much care. It was simply another person in the backdrop, another character in the dull meanderings of her academic life.

"You don't need friends," her mother, Lysandra, told her as she helped Arden pack that summer. "It doesn't matter. You need to concentrate on your studies, and I promise once you're out in society among the Empire, you'll meet acquaintances. Better ones than you'd meet in school."

Arden watched her mother gather her clothes, the impatient way she folded her skirt, the agitated cant of her head. "But you and Dad met your friends in academy," Arden said, and Lysandra's hands stilled. "What friends you have left."

"Times have changed," her mother snapped. "And things are different for you, Arden. There's nothing you or I can do about that."

Arden first saw the new student at breakfast, sitting by the Bloodless girl Cicero and the obnoxious twit Lucas Thornhaven. She was a skinny, nervous thing, wearing rather tatty human clothes instead of their uniform. Her blonde hair and pale skin both needed product, and idly Arden thought she'd never heard of moisturizer before. The girl picked at her food with short, anxious motions.

Arden stirred her coffee and passed the time by flitting through the familial lines, considering them one by one like a card held up next to the girl's head. Not one of Ignarhl's, she thought. No white in the hair. Not Bilarhl, or Inasiahl, and probably not one of the Earth Art Seraphs. She sipped her coffee. Arbarhl, maybe. His line has too many fractures to be followed anymore, and the blonde hair fits.

Arden grew bored of her musings and turned to the equally boring task of considering her schoolwork, and if she'd finished all her tasks for the day. As usual, no one dared take a seat at her table. Arden sat alone, surrounded by nothing but her own bad mood.

Awareness prickled against her skin, and Arden jerked her head up, searching. She locked eyes with the new girl, who blinked, then turned to Thornhaven. The prat looked over his shoulder at Arden but didn't have the gall to lock eyes with her. He said something to the new girl.

He's probably telling her all about the daughter of the nasty Nightshade. Arden's fingers tightened on her cup, the coffee trembling inside. They have to ensure I'm treated like I have a disease. Typical.

Her appetite hadn't been great to begin with that morning, and it fled her entirely now. Arden left what remained of her drink and gathered her school bag, departing the dining hall before the meal came to an end. As usual, most people didn't notice her, and those who did typically looked away.

"You're a Raferty. You don't need friends. Don't be ridiculous," her father Altair said, his nose in the air. He folded long, slender hands together, gold rings glinting in the low, simmering light. "They are beneath your attention. You will pass these years quickly and won't have to consider them at all once you've left that pitiful little island behind."

"But it's hard," Arden told him. "I feel so alone—."

Her father tutted. "You are never alone. Infarhl guides us—." Arden sighed, and he snapped. "Mind your tongue, girl."

Arden wrinkled her nose against the light growing more intense over the commons and placed her sunglasses on her face, turning her route along the cloister path around the building. She headed into the Jove Wing, relaxing when she was inside again, though the sun still seeped through the passage's windows. It was also dead silent, Arden's footsteps echoing against the stone.