The Chronicles Of Ixia (Books 1-6). Maria V. Snyder
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dancing all night long.” She laughed.
“I don’t know how to dance,” I said.
“Doesn’t matter. You have a natural grace. Watch the others and follow.” Zitora added the sandals to the top of my pile.
“I really can’t take all of this.” I tried to give the clothes back. “I came for advice, not your entire wardrobe.” I planned to go to the market. With the return of the Citadel’s residents, the shops remained open every day.
She shooed me away. “Hardly made a dent in my armoire. I’m a collector of clothes. I can’t pass a dress shop without finding something I must have.”
“At least let me pay—”
“Stop.” She raised her hand. “I’ll make it easier for you. Tomorrow I’m leaving on a mission for the Council, and—much to my chagrin—I will have an escort of four soldiers. Irys and Roze can gallivant all over Sitia by themselves, and they’re assigned all the fun, secret missions. But the Council worries about me. So I’m limited to escorted missions.” She huffed with frustration. “I’ve seen you practicing with your bow near the stable. How about I exchange my clothes for some lessons in self-defense?”
“Okay. But why didn’t you learn how to defend yourself while a student here?”
“I hated the Master of Arms,” she said with a deep frown. “A bully who turned the teaching sessions into torture sessions. He enjoyed inflicting pain. I avoided him at all costs. When the Masters realized I had strong powers, they focused more on my learning.”
“Who’s the Arms Master?”
“One of the northerners with Cahil. Goel’s his name.” Zitora shuddered with revulsion. “Although he wasn’t as bad as the Master test …” She paused as a cringe of horror crossed her face. Then she jerked her head as if dislodging unwanted memories.
“Anyway, Roze offered to teach me, but I’d rather have you as my instructor.” She flashed me a conspiratorial smirk.
Having agreed to the exchange, I maneuvered down Zitora’s tower steps with the bundle of her clothes heaped in my arms. So burdened, I headed toward my rooms. On the way, I wondered about the Master test. Fisk, the beggar boy had also mentioned it. I would have to ask Irys.
The courtyard across from my quarters buzzed with students. A few boys tossed a ball, while others lounged on the grass or talked in groups. Hampered by Zitora’s clothes, I fumbled at my door.
“Hey, you!” someone called.
I looked around and spotted a group of girls gesturing at me.
“The first year barracks are that way.” One of the girls with long blond hair pointed. “This is for apprentices only.”
“Thanks, but this is my room,” I called, turning back.
I managed to get the door open before I felt a prickle of power along my spine. Tossing the clothing on to the floor, I spun around. A group of students stood mere inches from me.
“You don’t belong here,” said the long-haired girl. A dangerous shine lit her violet eyes. “You’re new. I know everybody, and new students go to the first-year barracks. You have to earn a room here.”
Persuasive magic emanated from her. A strong desire to pack my belongings and move to the first-year dorms coursed through my mind and pressed against my body. I deflected her magical command by strengthening my mental defenses.
She grunted in outrage. A look passed among her companions. Power built as they readied to join in. I braced for another attack, but before they could use their combined power, another voice cut through the throng.
“What’s going on here?”
The power dissipated in a stiff wave as Dax Greenblade pushed his lean muscular body through the group, staring down at the others with his bottle-green eyes. In the sunlight, his honey-brown skin made his face appear older.
“She doesn’t belong here,” the girl repeated.
“Yelena is Fourth Magician’s student,” Dax said. “She’s been assigned to this wing.”
“But that’s not fair,” the girl whined. “You have to earn the right to be here.”
“And who’s to say she hasn’t?” Dax asked. “If you believe Fourth Magician is in error, I suggest you take it up with her.”
An uncomfortable silence followed before the group returned to the courtyard. Dax stayed beside me.
“Thanks,” I said. The group huddled in a tight pack, casting nasty looks my way as they talked. “Guess I haven’t made any friends.”
“Three points against you, I’m afraid. One.” Dax held up a long slender finger. “You’re new. Two. Fourth Magician’s your mentor. Any student selected by a Master is guaranteed to be the subject of jealousy. If you’re looking for friends, I’m afraid Gelsi and I are your only choices.”
“What’s the third point?”
He smiled sardonically. “Rumors and speculation. The students will dig up every bit of information they can on you and why you’re here. It doesn’t matter if the information is true or not. In fact, the stranger the tidbits the better. And I have a feeling from what I already heard your tidbits are quite juicy and should inflame the gossip all the more.”
I studied his face. Lines of concern creased his forehead, and I saw no signs of deceit. “Tidbits?”
“You’re Leif’s lost sister, you’re older than all the students and you’re extremely powerful.”
I looked at him in surprise. Me? Powerful?
“I didn’t come over to help you. I came to protect them.” He inclined his head toward the group in the courtyard.
Before I could comment, Dax pointed to a room, five doors down from mine. “Come anytime for any reason. Gelsi is in the novice barracks near the west wall.”
Dax waved goodbye and strode toward his room. The group’s hostility transferred briefly to his back before returning to me. I closed my door.
Great. Day one and already the outcast. But did I care? Here to learn and not to make friends, I thought it wouldn’t matter once lessons started. By then, the students would be too busy to pay any attention to me.
I sorted through Zitora’s clothes, choosing a long black skirt and a red-and-black V-neck blouse. The shirt had two layers of material. A pattern of fine black lace over red silk.
I tried on the outfit. Deciding to leave my bow behind during the feast, I cut a slit in one of the skirt’s pockets for quick access to my switchblade. The sandals were a little big, so I poked another hole in the strap.
Until I looked at myself in the mirror I hadn’t realized I wore Commander Ambrose’s colors, the same combination as my northern uniform. I considered another outfit, even tried on different clothes, but felt the most comfortable in my first choice.
Pulling my hair from its braid, I scowled at the limp mess. The year before I had cut out the snarls and tangles, and now the ends had grown in ragged. My black hair now reached past my shoulders. It would need a good trim and washing.
I changed back into my day clothes and left my rooms to feed the promised apples to Topaz and Kiki. Conversation in the courtyard ceased as I emerged. Ignoring them, I set out for the stable. I would stop by the baths on my return.
The time for the feast came quicker than I expected. Once again, I stood in front of the mirror in my bedroom, assessing my clothing with a critical eye. I pushed a stray curl from my face.
An assistant at the baths had fussed over my awkward attempts to cut my own hair. She had commandeered my scissors and proceeded to trim the ends, then had rolled my hair with hot metal tubes.
Instead of