Page 15

K IDAN HAD A STALKER . S HE WHIRLED AROUND FOR THE SECOND TIME that day as she walked on campus, finding a dark-haired boy in black clothes standing by the trees, watching her. Her scalp prickled with the possibilities—he could be the messenger who had brought Aunt Silia’s journal, he could know about June, he could be a reporter. He disappeared into the morning crowd of shuffling students before she could find out.

She shook her head, probably being paranoid. Not for the first time, she fiddled with the bronze pin on her sleeve. House Adane’s sigil was two mountains eclipsing each other. Kidan guessed it was an homage to their archaeological past. She wanted to take it off, avoid anything linking her to him , but Dean Faris had said it was mandatory. Bronze pins for new initiates, silver for those who graduate Dranacti, and gold for those who’ve mastered their houses.

All students and vampires of Uxlay displayed their house sigils with a pin either worn on the sleeve or secured to the chest. Kidan found herself tracking students’ arms or shirts, playing a game of matching who belonged to who, learning the symbols.

“Adane! Help up here!”

Ramyn’s black, low-heeled shoes dangled from a high tree branch. Her red plaid skirt was paired with a simple white shirt, and her stockings were torn. A pastel bag with a Save the Wild Foxes badge remained under the tree.

Kidan whispered under her breath. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

She considered walking away and alerting someone else, but the seeming impossibility of finding Ramyn in a similar situation as hers rooted her to the spot.

Kidan rubbed her temple. “What happened?”

Ramyn laughed nervously. “You know how I told you a dranaic and an acti should have a good relationship? I told my house dranaic about what happened to you, you know, as a joke to break the ice, because she doesn’t like me very much. I said at least she didn’t put me on the roof, because I’m terrified of heights. Then she invited me for a walk and… she put me up here.”

The creature inside Kidan’s belly extended its claws in fury.

“Are you going to report this?” Kidan asked.

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to cause trouble.” Ramyn looked down and quickly fixed her gaze straight ahead.

Kidan had many questions. The most obvious was why were the humans afraid of the dranaics if the dean preached so much about peace.

“There’s no ladder, Ramyn. You’ll have to get down without one.”

Ramyn shook her head firmly. “That’s okay. I’ll just stay here.”

“I’ll coach you through it. I’m not leaving until you get down.”

Ramyn didn’t move. Kidan remembered what she used to do with June whenever she was afraid. A game of finding something worse to take the fear away. Kidan studied the stack of books spilling out of the pastel bag.

“Look, Ramyn, today is my first day for Introduction to Dranacti and I can’t be late. I’m sure you don’t want to be either.”

Ramyn’s eyes swept downward to the books.

“So let’s go, okay? Before we fail for being late.”

Reluctantly, Ramyn agreed. They took it slow. Finding her footing on the bark proved hard, so Kidan instructed her to take her shoes off. With her ribbed stockings serving as extra grip, Ramyn scaled down, blowing curly hair out of her face when she finally reached grass.

“Thank you. Thank you.” She hugged the ground.

Kidan shook her head in amusement and helped her up.

“What happened to your face?” Ramyn frowned, worry filling her eyes.

“Oh.” Kidan touched her forehead. It had hurt but did what it was supposed to do. Susenyos had barely glanced her way since then. “I hurt myself forcing open a stuck door.”

They entered the sprawling courtyard, and Kidan stretched her neck, taking in the old buildings.

“I guess I could give you a tour on the way,” Ramyn said.

“There’s no need.”

The girl dimmed. “But I practiced.”

Kidan stifled a sigh. “Fine.”

Ramyn beamed, fishing out something from her bag. “Also, here. Your full schedule and course list.”

Kidan took the paper.

Uxlay University

Semester 1

Student: Kidan Adane

House: House Adane, Department of Archaeology and History

Course List

East Africa and the Undead, School of History

Introduction to Dranacti, School of Philosophy

Mythology and Modernity, School of Philosophy

Texts Required

Migration: A Dranaic History by Nardos Tesfa

Introduction to Dranacti by Demasus and the Last Sage

Black Gods and Their Children by Wesfin Alama

“There are many departments in Uxlay but the Department of Arts has four branches. The School of Art, School of History, School of Languages and Linguistics, and School of Philosophy. Together, they form the Arat Towers,” Ramyn explained, stopping in the middle of the grassy court.

She pointed to the towers boxing the lush field, each located at one corner of the huge square.

“They were designed to indicate time and schedule. For decades, Uxlay’s art students followed Resar’s education circle. When the sun faced the first tower, of the School of Languages and Linguistics, students filed into the building for its teachings. They would be there until the School of History’s tower lit up, and then they’d move on to the next ones in turn. Resar said philosophy had to be held at dusk—only after the mind was supplied with the appropriate sustenance of art, literature, divination, and history could it engage in insightful discussions.”

If Kidan squinted just right, she could fool herself into thinking she was attending a normal place of education, with normal human beings.

But her first glimpse of the dranaics on campus snuffed out that hope. They emerged in groups from the Southern Sost Buildings, which were identifiable by their black iron gates and spine-curling spikes. Dean Faris had made it very clear humans were prohibited from those three buildings without invitation, and trespassing there was cause for expulsion.

One of the vampires Kidan instantly recognized from her first day. She was still dressed like a gentleman of high society, strikingly beautiful. Her name was… Iniko. One of Susenyos’s friends. The dranaic slid Kidan a deathly gaze.

Kidan matched it with her own hard stare, wishing she had a weapon. Her skin itched with how powerless she felt. She thought about the Last Sage’s Three Binds keeping the vampires in check. Her lips twisted upward. They were also powerless. Fairy tales and myths had always been more June’s thing, though, which was why Kidan made her that three-pointed charm. Her stomach tightened. She had to get that bracelet back.

Iniko flashed her teeth at them. At Ramyn, to be exact.

“Do you know her?” Kidan asked.

Ramyn averted her gaze. “She’s one of my house dranaics. She’s the one who put me up the tree.”

“You could have been seriously injured.”

“It was my fault anyway,” Ramyn said, walking fast toward the School of Philosophy. Kidan followed. In certain moments, Ramyn seemed so much like June, weak and waiting to be taken. Kidan clenched her jaw. The humans of this place were surrounded by wolves.

The School of Philosophy glinted in the afternoon haze as students climbed its stairs. Kidan shared the elevator with nervous students, then kept her distance from them until they reached Room 31. Ramyn disappeared when she got called over by some smiling girls, leaving Kidan to enter alone.

The classroom was as dead as an old photograph. It featured seven windows with glass drenched in sepia tint, all dimmed as if they were in mourning. At least forty desks and chairs were placed in concentric circles, and in the middle of it all waited a funeral of a man.

The only indication of life on Professor Andreyas was his cornrowed hair. Four thick lines falling neatly across his scalp before reaching his mid-back, fastened by a black clasp. Hair implied growth, some humanness. Yet, as he surveyed the students with a quiet regality only found in ancient paintings, Kidan retracted that thought. Humanness had no place in this room.

“I see many of you did not take my advice to pursue other subjects.” Displeasure fit itself well around his voice.

All the chairs were occupied, and all their occupants shifted and squirmed.

Kidan wanted to disappear into the back, but it was already taken. The high windows and their muted brown color minimized the effect of the sun, making the desks cold to the touch.

Kidan studied her book. Dranacti. It was a combination of two words—“dranaic,” meaning “vampires,” and “acti,” meaning “humans.”

“A few rules,” the professor said. “Dranacti does not follow traditional teaching, schedules, or grading systems. The schedules and times of our classes will vary depending on the events of the day. Each of you is allowed two absences based on medical exemption or some other nonmedical life-threatening circumstance. More than those absences will mean instant dismissal.”

No one objected. Kidan lifted her pencil to a straight angle, piercing her notebook. She’d thought she’d last longer, but the command of authority and the meekness of her cohort made her skin hot. She was meant to suffer through this for a whole semester?

“At the back of the room, you will find phone numbers for counseling and psychological services. I implore you to use them. The loss of life that can be preventable should be prevented, lest it impede on all our futures.”

Kidan skewed her mouth. Even their good intentions eventually served their own purposes.

The professor continued. “Introduction to Dranacti offers the theory and groundwork for the coexistence between dranaics and actis. It was written by Demasus and the Last Sage during the ancient civilization of Axum. One of you will graduate this course. At the companionship ceremony, you will choose no more than two dranaics, if they’ll have you, and be eligible to study Mastering a House Law next year to finalize your induction into Uxlay society.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” a voice said. “I think I heard you wrong. Did you say only one of us will graduate Dranacti?”

It was a soft-faced boy with freckles, who appeared to be the youngest here. Did he belong to any of the houses Aunt Silia mentioned? Kidan needed to befriend some students if she wanted to find out more about Susenyos. But she lacked the patience for surface-level conversations that made strangers feel at ease. She jumped straight into interrogations and made people uncomfortable. That was her specialty.

“The university forbids me to fail all of you. At least one of you must pass so the program can continue.”

The student swallowed, looking to his friend in apprehension.

“Do not view one another as competition. Dranacti is written in a difficult language, one you must take care to translate. You will need to form study groups that compensate for what you lack.” He swiped chalk from the board. “Now, moral theory found in Dranacti can be sectioned into three parts. If one of you knows what they are, grace us with the knowledge.”

A sound came from the back, a soft but horribly flat voice.

“Relativism, Quadrantism, and Concordium.”

Kidan turned to find the girl, but there were three circles, and she could only glimpse a large jacket.

“In Aarac, if you can,” the professor said.

The same girl answered. “Sophene, Arat, and Koraq.”

His eyes sharpened with interest. “Sophene, Arat, and Koraq. Nicknamed the three poisons. One of these subjects will become incomprehensible to you during our study. When that happens, you will be dismissed.”

He walked to the curved walls and wrote the three topics to be studied.

“Some relief, or perhaps a stress point, is that I do not test by the written word. Your understanding is measured by informal questions, formal discussions, and private tests. You will defend, recommend, and challenge one another’s ideas in these meetings. Silence is death during these circles—do your best to avoid it. I’d encourage you to read to broaden your minds, but if you are not already aware of that basic requirement, I’m tempted to watch how deep a hole you dig for yourselves.” The professor observed them, a hawk in front of prey. “Shall we begin?”

Kidan could hear her own breathing in the absoluteness of the silence.

“Here is your first task, actis.” He sat on the edge of his desk, his mahogany skin bronzed by the window light. “Each of you knows why you want to pass this course. I’m not speaking about your family and the pressures of legacy but yourself, personally—what do you want to achieve? Write it on a piece of paper. Articulate it to one word, no need for exhausting sentences.”

A flock of papers took flight as students rushed to complete the task. Kidan didn’t lift her pen. She had no word to encompass her reason for being here. At least not personally. June was always the answer. What did she want to achieve from a course about humans’ and vampires’ coexistence? How to kill them would be nice to know. She guessed that was her answer. Murder. Revenge. Fire. All leading to death. She had no future anyway, so she wrote nothing.

The professor asked them to write their names and collected the words. He then partnered the students based on the answers. Kidan’s chest pinched. Would she be without a partner?

“Kidan Adane and Ramyn Ajtaf,” Professor Andreyas announced.

Kidan became alert, watching the familiar girl in the red plaid skirt and white shirt walk toward her as everyone settled alongside their partners.

Ajtaf.

Gold House. One of the houses Aunt Silia warned against.

“Hi, again.” Her voice rang shy.

Kidan regarded her carefully. “Hi.”

“You wrote nothing too?” Ramyn whispered, and when Kidan nodded, a tinge of sadness touched her voice. “Join the club.”

Kidan’s brows creased with questions. She peered at Ramyn’s vintage watch. The band featured a pin she hadn’t noticed before: a thin golden tower. House Ajtaf’s sigil.

“For Relativism, you will be working with your partner. You cannot pass without each other—and no, you cannot change partners,” the professor instructed. “I’ll give you a moment to introduce yourselves.”

Kidan’s mind blanked. How did normal people deal with these situations? Small talk, she supposed. Are you excited for the year? What’s your favorite color? What the hell are you doing studying a course that permanently ties you to vampires? Probably not the last one.

Ramyn studied her, almost amused, waiting for Kidan to speak.

Oh, fuck it . There was only one thing she wanted to ask.

“What do you know about Susenyos Sagad?”

Ramyn’s face dimmed at once.

“Everyone knows him.” She tucked a curl behind her ear.

Kidan lowered her voice. “I heard he does something awful to girls.”

Ramyn’s large eyes widened. “Who told you that?”

“Just… rumors.”

“Well, they’re not true,” she said quickly, looking around as if to make sure no one heard.

Ramyn shifted, exposing her collarbone. A dotted red bite mark marred her brown skin.

Kidan tensed. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Ramyn followed her gaze and adjusted her clothes, covering her goose bumps. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Kidan remembered the blindfolded girls and bitten shoulders. Cold sweat broke out along her back.

Her voice dipped to the depths of hell. “Did Susenyos do that to you?”

Ramyn stiffened, then a flicker of anger crossed her eyes. “He hasn’t done anything to me, and you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

Her fingers trembled as she reached for her book. Warning bells rang even louder. Without thinking, Kidan reached out a hand to calm Ramyn’s nerves. An icy cold shocked her at contact.

“You should wear something warmer,” Kidan said, gesturing to her outfit.

“Yeah.” Ramyn sniffed. “I always forget.”

They settled into an odd quiet, neither knowing how to move on to the discussion they should be having. Were Ramyn and Susenyos connected somehow?

Ajtaf House had more than two hundred dranaics, according to Aunt Silia’s journal. It brought up a niggling question that had been in the back of Kidan’s mind. What had happened to the house dranaics sired to House Adane? Why was Susenyos Sagad the only one left?

Before she could ask more, Professor Andreyas called attention back to himself.

“Let’s begin with a primary question. Is morality influenced or innate?”

Not a single hand rose.

“If you show courage, I might refrain from dismissing you all in the first class.” His tone of condescension made her skin prickle. “No one? What little thoughts you must have.”

Ramyn shrank when the professor’s ancient eyes rested on her. Before she knew it, Kidan was speaking, her attention fixed on her desk.

“Humans are a product of influence. We are at the mercy of our family and those we’ve loved and lost. The world decides what we become without their control. So, influenced.”

His shadow climbed on her desk. “That makes you no different from an animal.”

She lifted her head, met those unmoving orbs, hatred boiling from the proximity. “An animal kills and feels no remorse, no loathing,” she said. “The only human morality there is, is reflection and regret.”

“Interesting hypothesis. What are your sources?”

Kidan’s gaze dropped slightly. She didn’t have any.

“Thoughts if not dissected and proved are meaningless. Find those that can support your ideas before you voice them.”

The sting of his response mounted with each second. After a moment, the same monotone girl from earlier spoke. “I agree as well. Influenced.”

“Source?” The professor lifted his chin.

“The first law trial of Ojiran.”

“Interesting time period. Go on.”

“Ojiran was imprisoned after being accused of seducing his friend’s wife and murdering her. Before he died, he left his friend a poem.”

“Do you know the poem?”

“I do.”

The girl had a colorless speech pattern, no intonation or rhythm. A sort of tone that shouldn’t be allowed to bring a book to life, let alone a poem. Kidan’s gaze was carried to the trees outside, yet she didn’t make it far. Her attention snapped back with the first crack of the verse.

“If the source of all hate is this eye, blind me. But if it still lingers, take my second. If it still speaks, cut my tongue. If it still writhes, unhinge my bones. If it still lives, then look at your hands. If it’s in your skin, not mine, in your very soul, then purge yourself. Purge yourself, my friend. And hope you can join us in the clouds.”

The words fell with tremendous impact. For the briefest of moments, the voice slipped into a different cadence. It turned haunting, shaking, and alive, as if the speaker was pleading the case herself.

“Driven with doubt over sending Ojiran to his death, the friend went mad with never knowing the truth about who seduced and killed his wife. He became known as the Hand of Infidelity, pursuing and ridding the world of harlots and adulterers. As such, his sense of morality was very much influenced by the letter left for him.”

The lead of Kidan’s pencil broke into small chunks. She snuck a glance over her shoulder, ever so slowly, eyes tracing along the floor. The girl’s shoes were black-laced combat boots. Kidan outlined their shape, imagining the hard ridges of their bottoms pressing like the rubble of a road.

At least this girl didn’t appear to be fragile. Fragility was a sickness to Kidan. It infected her from within, driving her wild until she could find a way to cure it.

A pen bounced near the boots, sending an unusually loud ringing to her ears. Kidan glimpsed something else and already committed it to memory—fingerless gloves, graceful hands.

“Who’s she?” Kidan whispered to Ramyn.

“Oh, that’s Slen.”

Slen. Even her name cut across the tongue, and Kidan had the urge to touch her lips, sure she would find blood there. Or maybe it was her words, the poem.

“Her family are the Qaros,” Ramyn was saying. “They own the music conservatory.”

Qaros. Another important family her aunt warned about.

Kidan lowered her voice, eyes going to Ramyn’s bruised shoulder. She needed more answers. “Meet me tomorrow at the East Corner Coffee for our project? Around noon?”

Ramyn appeared uncertain before nodding. When Professor Andreyas concluded the lesson with the first assignment, on the Scales of Sovane, Ramyn was the first out the door. As if she couldn’t wait to get away from Kidan.

Kidan exhaled. Her social skills were rusty. But spending an entire year talking only to furniture would do that.

She busied herself with a new plan. Form a study group with Ramyn Ajtaf and Slen Qaros, and hope to uncover how their houses were involved in the decline of hers. And more importantly, why? Was it jealousy, revenge, or a grab for wealth? What wealth did House Adane even possess to garner such hatred?

Aunt Silia would probably advise her to stay clear of them all. Stay alive. If these established houses discovered she was sniffing around, it wouldn’t be difficult to make sure House Adane went extinct for good. Kidan released a slow breath. All she had to do was keep some students close, try for a smile instead of a grimace, work on her tone. A groan slipped out of her.

If they didn’t kill her for whatever agenda they held, they surely would for her lovely personality.