Evermore Academy (Evermore Academy #3) - Audrey Grey Page 0,93

past—anything at all—I’m going to find it.

38

Because of intercourt politics and rules about crossing territories, it takes three portals to reach the old Whitehall Academy. Now a military encampment protected by magical shields, the base runs along the northern edge of the infected Scourge lands.

I see immediately why it’s called Whitehall. The main academy building is an enormous ivory castle. Once probably beautiful, it’s quickly fallen into disrepair. Towers crumble at their bases, and wilted gray vines and an insidious black moss blight its parapets and turrets. Dark green kidney-shaped pools scatter throughout the wild gardens, overgrown hedges and willow trees crowding the space.

We spend the morning touring the grounds. Evermore students are split into one group, shadows in another. We tour the armory, listen to stories from a few battle-hardened soldiers, hear how important the fight against the Scourge is to save the Everwilde.

For lunch we sit on a hill overlooking the border where the Scourge lands begin. A magical shield glints in the air like a mirage, all that stands between the darklings and us.

On the other side awaits a nightmare of shadows, scorched earth, and dead trees. Nothing green remains. Far off in the distance, dark fingers of smoke curl toward the sky where the battle rages.

If I squint, I can see things clawing at the magical shield. A lot of things.

So I focus on the tuna salad sandwich the brownies packed and pretend there aren’t real darklings nearby. I pretend the not real darklings weren’t once real humans, and that there isn’t only a delicate veil of magic between us.

After lunch, Mrs. Richter and a handful of real shadow Guardians escort the shadows to a staging area beneath a wide tent. Meanwhile, Mr. Willis takes the Evermore students to a different part of the tour.

Mrs. Richter quickly explains that we get to view the battle up close while the Evermore students can only tour the facilities and watch from afar. As if that’s a good thing.

Translation, we’re expendable. If a darkling munches our face or a troll caves in our skull, they can always use compulsion to make our parents and the human world think we tripped into a wall or down a flight of stairs.

The Spring Court Fae commander inside the open tent barely spares us a glance. A golden beret cap covers his eyes from view as he pores over the large map spread over a long oak wood table. He’s short and stocky, his pale green skin covered with horrible white scars.

Finally, he straightens, flicks a tired glance over at our group, and strides over. A red patch covers his left eye, a jagged white scar spearing down his forehead to his chin.

A tall shadow next to me named Ben gasps.

The commander stops right in front of him. “Know what made this, boy?”

Ben shakes his head, eyes huge.

“A Baggin Troll general. Near split my head in two with his axe.” He touches the top of his head as if surprised it’s intact. “Next time I met that bastard on the battlefield I killed him with that same axe, took his ugly head for a trophy. Want to see it?”

“W-what?” Ben stutters. “No. I mean—you didn’t really keep it, right?”

The commander winks. “Got it nailed above my bed.” He turns to address all of us. “The academy insists on doing this little show every year, but I’ll be honest with you. When I look at your fresh faces all I see are future recruits.”

A snobby shadow named Cassandra raises her hand. “That’s not true. Our parents would never let that happen.”

The commander runs a hand over the pointed end of one ear. “Are those the same mommies and daddies who sold your freedom in a bargain?”

I smile. This commander might be rough around the edges and sleep with the head of a dead troll, but he’s the first Fae in a long time who’s told the truth.

“The average time a mortal recruit survives in the Scourge lands is twenty-nine days.”

A collective horror fills the silence.

Mrs. Richter’s thin hands rub together. “Perhaps we should move on to the first part of the tour?”

“Right. Killing darklings. Load up, boys and girls. You’re about to see what your future holds.”

“This guy is a real hoot,” Mack whispers.

“I like him.” As the others begin to follow the commander, I drag Ruby from her pouch and gently shake her awake. “Ready?”

“Kid, I was born ready.”

She darts over the line of students and makes a beeline toward the commander. Mrs.