Page 13 of The Song of Sunrise (The Prentice Teller #1)
“Hi. I’m Ramona!” She offers a quick wave. “Leaf says you’re one heck of a storyteller.”
I smile coyly. “I can’t promise you anything.”
“Ramona is a Legacy cadet, so she’s got plenty of room to share,” Leaf adds, smiling fondly at Ramona.
“Yes, I guess one of the only good things about being born into a long line of Watchers is the bigger rooms. Definitely not the moving every few years and forced-enrollment in the Watch,” she deadpans.
I like her.
“Oh come on. You are a natural with all things weapons. You secretly love it here,” Leaf counters.
“We’ll see. Glad I have someone else to hang with now other than these two.” Ramona reaches forward and grabs my hand. “Come on, I’ll show you to our room. I’m sure you are sick of smelling their body odor by now.”
“Hey!” Castor and Leaf both say, but we are already five steps ahead before they burst into arguing with each other about who smells worse.
For having such short legs, Ramona walks at a ridiculously brisk pace.
I can barely keep up with her. She seems to have boundless amounts of energy, despite the late hour.
She chats the whole way to our room about how she is training for her first-stone like me, that she has an “in” with the cafeteria staff so we will get the “good bean brew,” and how she will take me shopping tomorrow for proper training leathers.
I cannot help but admire Ramona’s oozing confidence as I follow her sure-footed steps. She wears a plain black high neck sweater in an Eastlander style, but her version is distressed and cut off at the shoulders. Her dark cargo pants swish and jingle with each quick step.
But the most unique part of Ramona’s style is the choker around her neck. Strands of black leather weave toward a central point where three hollowed silver hooks lie empty, like claws reaching outwards grasping at air.
“We’re almost there,” Ramona calls over her shoulder. We pass a long corridor with a large floor-to-ceiling glass wall on our right. Through the wall, I can see a dimly lit library full of books.
I lean in closer to the glass, cupping my hands around my eyes to see though the reflective surface better. The inside of the room is one from my dreams. Stacks of books pile high in every corner. Shelves host books at heights impossible to reach but by ladder.
Books . Hundreds, maybe thousands, of them. Since the dawn of the New World, books are quite rare. Coveted by many as a luxury. A lump forms in my throat and I try to swallow. Marrow would have loved it here.
SMACK!
Something slams against the window.
“Ah!” I scream and back away from the wall.
In less than a second, Ramona has an arm in front of me, crouching with a short dagger in hand. I didn’t even notice her approach, let alone the dagger.
“Oh it’s just Miki. Stupid cat, scared the stars out of me,” Ramona says as she stands up, spinning her dagger once in her hand before effortlessly sliding it into a compartment of her cargo pants.
The beige cat’s face is squished against the library’s glass wall, eyes staring directly at me.
“Miki belongs to the Master Librarian, Len,” Ramona starts explaining as we move toward an open area with four round stone door frames. Each leads into a small room entirely made of glass.
How perplexing. There are no windows, just a glass box that looks big enough for only a few people.
“Really, the library is a pretty great place, if you don’t mind the cat and awful Master Librarian.
It goes below ground for quite a few floors, eventually leading to restricted sections so far below ground you start to get dizzy from all the dust, or so I’ve heard.
Never ventured down low enough to see for myself.
“This whole place feels a little bit like a maze when you first arrive, but you’ll get used to it in no time.” Ramona stops in front of one of the archways and presses her thumb to a smooth black stone. She gestures for me to get inside the glass cage.
“What is this room?” I hesitantly step inside. My skin itches to get out the moment we are in the suffocating transparent box, panic slowly tunneling my vision being enclosed in a small space.
“Long ago, someone must have gotten sick of the stairs, so they enchanted these glass boxes to float up and down to the various levels of the Academy.”
Ramona presses another polished onyx stone with a large number “4” and waits. The whole room begins to vibrate and whirr. A dim, light blue glow illuminates the corners.
“Source magic,” Ramona explains, likely prompted by my gaping stare.
“Floors one and two are mainly shared spaces, like the Library and Main Hall, but there are also classrooms and meeting rooms down there too. Cadet quarters are on levels three and four. Our room is on four.” She points to the glowing stone with the number “4” to emphasize her point.
The enormity of this castle almost outweighs the enormity of my decision to come here in the first place.
From what I saw outside, it looks at least ten stories of sleek white stone fused into the side of the cliff.
It’s going to take ages to figure out how to get around this place without getting lost.
Ramona doesn’t seem to be as comfortable with silence as me by proof of her consistent chatter. Though, I don’t mind it. I’ve always appreciated when other people drive conversation.
As a Prentice Teller, Marrow would always explain that it can be fatiguing, to entertain, to Tell, to use copious amounts of energy to curate the precise mood of the room you wanted.
He was right. Telling was a sport, not a profession.
I wonder if I’ll be as exhausted here after lessons as I am after a performance.
“—above the cadet quarters are the professors’ offices and personal living suites on five and six. I think they like to stay close to us cadets so we don’t cause too much trouble,” Ramona adds with a twirl as a calm, genderless voice announces, Level Four - Cadet Quarters.
The doors open up to a long hallway with dark wooden floors and natural stone walls that are painted white.
It is almost like they are trying to hide the fact that this whole castle is nestled into the side of a mountain.
Glass sconces filled with a flickering warm light illuminate the hall.
On closer inspection, it isn’t a flame flickering but a dancing ball of light again.
Fascinating. This must be sun magic!
Ramona pauses us in front of a room filled with fluffy green and blue cushions, mismatched wooden tables and chairs, and small leather sofas grouped together in clusters throughout the space.
A black fireplace in the center of the room cracks and pops as real flame licks the wood greedily.
On the far side is a kitchen, complete with a sink, ample cooking supplies, and a large serving island.
“Comfortable, isn’t it?” Ramona asks. “It’s a communal space. You can hang out here anytime you want.”
“Wow,” is all I can say. I can’t believe this lavish space is a part of where I’m going to live for the next year. Just days ago, I was in my small basement room at the Rose always perched to memorize is a strength of a Teller.
Professors! Bless my good memory.
“Where was I? Oh yes, above the Professor suites are some more classrooms on floors seven and eight. Level nine is where the Elder Council offices are. Lastly, up on ten, we have my favorite classroom—but I’ll leave that as a surprise!
” Ramona teases as we turn a final corner to the right and stop in front of a curved wooden door.
“And this is our room.” Ramona smiles as she presses her thumb once again to a small black stone near the handle. A smooth unlocking sound omits from inside the door and it pops inward.
Leaf was right. Ramona’s room is large. It has the same white stone walls and dark wood floor with ornate rugs layered on top of each other, their black and white patterns clashing almost comically. Two loft beds hug the walls on either side of the room, each with desks underneath.
Ramona’s side of the room is dripping in dark lace, black bedding, and a smattering of small random objects she must collect and keep. Her closet is somehow already overflowing with more dark clothes of the same black, blue, and dark green variety.
“That’s your side,” Ramona points to the other side of the room. A simple beige quilt hangs over the edges of the loft bed. A small desk sits beneath with a lamp, quill, and another few items. The closet is empty besides the few pieces of clothing.
“I know it’s not much—”
“It’s perfect,” I say, walking over to the bed. I brush my fingers along the soft quilt.
At once, exhaustion sets in. Adrenaline from standing up for myself to the Elder Superior quickly wanes to the fatigue from traveling.
I sit at the desk, unlace my boots, and climb up into the bed.
My bed.
This still doesn’t feel real. “I’m going to turn in for the night, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. You don’t have to ask me. You must be exhausted,” Ramona lets out in one quick breath as she flicks off the light and crawls up to her bed. “Goodnight!”
“Goodnight,” I say back as I roll to the side facing the wall.
I clutch my pendant necklace and wait until I hear Ramona softly snoring. I lean forward and begin to scratch some of the paint off the wall. I lean back and admire my work.
Another hash mark, another day.
I tuck my pendant away and grab the small square of Teller cloak that Marrow gifted me. An empty patch yet to be stitched with a harrowing tale. A tale of my own making.
I blink away the tears welling in the backs of my eyes, not allowing them to release.
Because if they do, they might never stop.