NOVEL NEXT Book 2: Chapter 14 - School Lunch [Part 2]
Book 2: Chapter 14 - School Lunch [Part 2]
Finally, Rashana took them to the training halls, situated beside an empty tilting field. The clang of practice weapons and the grunts of exertion echoed through the spacious arena. Mostly young men—and the very occasional girl—were honing their skills, hoping to become the next generation of skilled warriors. There was no segregation here, at least for the Seniors, for monsters outside the Academy walls did not distinguish between the sexes. A handful of privileged students from illustrious adventuring families also strutted about, eager to follow in their parents' heroic footsteps.
As the group passed by, Seraphina's emerald gaze lingered on the trainees a moment longer than was strictly polite. She silently justified her interest: she was merely assessing their form and posture, of course—purely an academic pursuit. And yet, she could not deny the moments when her eyes drifted downward to appreciate more than just their technique.
Michelié's fascination, on the other hand, was far more blatant. Her entire face lit up with unconcealed interest as she scanned the rows of sweating, muscular figures. "Oh, Rashana, just look at them," she whispered dramatically. "If we're going to be stuck on this deserted island for three years, we might as well enjoy the view!"
Rashana glanced at her friend with playful reproach, the three golden bangles on her wrists clinking as she wagged an elegant finger. "Must you stare so openly, Michelié? You're embarrassing yourself." However, the amused twinkle in her dark eyes took the sting out of her admonishment.
Gravens and Hughes remained studiously silent. Hughes, however, could not quite hide a flare of jealousy in his eyes.
Michelié responded with a mischievous giggle. "You can't honestly tell me you're not impressed. Come now!" Her laughter was contagious, and before long, Rashana joined in, their lighthearted giggles drawing the attention of a few curious onlookers in the training pit.
Seraphina, determined to maintain her composure, pretended not to notice the undercurrent of excitement. Her gaze roamed once more over the sparring students—strictly to gauge their stances, comparing them to what Kellan had taught her, she told herself, not to admire the ripple of muscle or the confident stances. She inwardly cursed the stray flutter in her chest.
"Milady," came a soft voice interrupting her thoughts, "the others have gone quite a ways ahead."
Seraphina turned to see Miriam. With an annoyed fixed smile, Seraphina nodded. "Thank you, Milly." She adjusted the folds of her Academy robes and quickened her steps to catch up with the rest of her group.
Behind them, practice faltered as more than one budding would-be warrior found his attention diverted. The subtle sway of the young girl's hips was not entirely obscured by her robes, and several pairs of eyes lingered on her retreating figure. A few more errant strikes missed their marks or simply stopped mid-swing altogether—an unfortunate consequence of so many distracted minds trying to commit Seraphina's graceful exit to memory.
"Whatever took you so long?" Michelié teased brightly as Seraphina and Miriam finally caught up to the group.
Seraphina brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, feigning indifference. "Oh, Milly here had some questions for the seniors," she replied coolly, inclining her head toward the maid. "She's determined to learn how to wield a weapon, after all."
"I am?" Miriam blurted, eyes wide with confusion, before a quick, pointed glare from Seraphina silenced her.
Michelié's entire face lit up in a mischievous grin. "You must teach me whatever you find out," she exclaimed, clasping her hands eagerly. Her plump cheeks dimpled in excitement.
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Seraphina's initial instinct was to roll her eyes—she usually found girls like Michelié hopelessly tedious and frivolous. And yet, there was something about this particular girl's sunny disposition that prevented Seraphina from staying annoyed for more than a moment.
Rashana, walking just ahead, arched a well-groomed brow at the exchange but said nothing. She was long accustomed to Seraphina's mercurial temper and Michelié's buoyant energy, knowing exactly how far each could be pushed.
"Forgive me, La—Seraphina," Graven interjected. The new, less formal way of addressing his noble charge still sounded strange on his tongue. "I didn't realize how far ahead we'd gone."
Seraphina tipped her chin up, schooling her features into polite composure. "Think nothing of it, Gravens. If anything, I should apologize for holding the group back. I imagine you're all famished by now."
From the corner of her eye, she spotted Miriam's look of utter astonishment. Was this the first time Seraphina had ever deigned to apologize for anything?
"Oh, of course. Lunchtime!" Rashana chimed in smoothly, as though eager to steer the conversation into less perilous territory. "The refectory beckons. And even you, Michelié," she added with a playful glint, "will find it up to your exacting standards. Their Pacquesh stew is simply to die for."
"Senior Rashana," Hughes ventured, "at what time are first-years allowed to eat?"
Delighted at being addressed by the honorific "Senior," Rashana brightened visibly—far more than Seraphina ever saw her react to her own aristocratic title. "Meals for first-years run from the first-afternoon bell to the second bell. That's roughly the thirteenth glass," she said, her rare smile belying her usual reserve. "Seniors eat after that. If you're late, the staff might still serve you. They certainly did for me."
Seraphina quietly noted that this indulgence likely stemmed from Rashana's noble lineage rather than any particular kindness on the Academy staff's part. She doubted Hughes would enjoy the same leniency.
"Lead on, then—lead on!" Michelié prompted, clapping her hands. She stood on her tiptoes and sniffed dramatically in Sir Graven's direction. "Is it my imagination, or can I smell the stew already? Then again, it might just be Graven here. He looks rather… tasty."
Graven offered a stiff, forced smile, clearly unused to such talk from the opposite sex.
"Don't be ridiculous, Michelié," Seraphina said with an airy laugh. "Let's not add cannibalism to your ever-growing list of appetites. I doubt society would approve."
Michelié's eyes sparkled with mischief. "But I heard Lord Fauntel—"
"Not here," Seraphina hissed with a bright, pointed smile. "You can regale me with those scandalous rumors later. Over lunch, of course."
"You're positively devilish sometimes," Michelié said, wagging a playful finger at Seraphina.
Rashana, unamused by the girlish gossip, interjected in a low, serious tone, "I've heard that human flesh supposedly tastes like pork."
Silence fell momentarily. Gravens broke it with a disbelieving chuckle, breaking his aura of stoicism. "Where in the world did you hear that?"
Rashana gave him a measured once-over, an enigmatic smile tugging at her lips. "One hears all sorts of things, especially if one happens upon certain… intriguing texts in the Academy library. The institution is quite open-minded and has a few rare volumes."
"Open-minded about… eating people?" Seraphina asked, quite aghast. This wasn't the sort of knowledge she'd expected to gain at the Academy.
Miriam shifted uncomfortably, lowering her gaze.
"Some volumes from the original missionaries of Qis do discuss… that sort of thing," the dark-skinned girl admitted sheepishly. "In great detail, I might add."
Seraphina pressed her lips together in distaste and sighed inwardly. Really, was this the conversation she needed before lunch? The very thought left her appetite dwindling. Then again, she mused, this might be a blessing in disguise. Lately, she felt she had been indulging in far too many treats—she and her perpetually hungry serpent, Cornelia, were growing altogether too alike.
"All right," she said briskly, her voice firm. "Talk about normal food only, from here on out. If this type of conversation continues much longer, I fear I'll be skipping lunch entirely."
With that, the small party made their way toward the refectory, the tantalizing aroma of the freshly cooked food providing a welcome distraction from topics far too grim for a midday meal.