on me, but the weather is so bad that it has little effect this time.
“What’s Nocturus?” I ask Mack, desperate for someone to tell me what the heck is happening.
Apparently still in shock, Mack takes a few seconds to compose herself enough to answer. “It’s a magical battle held during Samhain.”
By brain is reeling. Do I dare ask what Samhain is?
She must read my confusion because she says, “The holiday celebrating the start of winter? No? Not ringing a bell?”
I shrug hopelessly, and then a thought occurs to me. “How do they decide a winner?”
“No, they . . .” She brushes a hot pink strand of hair behind her ear. “They fight until one of the combatants yields . . . or dies.”
“Do the Fae ever choose the death option?” I ask, glancing over at Rhaegar.
“They do if they want to keep their honor.”
My heart sinks. The last thing I want, the last thing I need, is some Evermore dying for me in a stupid magical battle.
This is decidedly not a good start to my first day.
“What about the other girl?” I ask. “From the Lunar Court?”
A wry smile tugs on Mack’s lips. “You mean the renowned Lunar Court assassin, Eclipsa Skywell?”
I swallow. “Assassin?”
“Yep. I heard every half-moon jewel on her body stands for a kill. You should probably be glad she’s no longer in the running to be your keeper.”
I groan. Today is quickly becoming the worst day ever. And I say that as someone who’s been kidnapped, caged, and nearly sold.
With my sprite guide in tow, shrieking every Fae curse word in the book, we follow the rest of the group around the academy and to our dorms.
When we’re far enough away from the Fae students that their supernatural hearing won’t pick up our conversation, I say, “Guess the Winter Prince, wherever he’s hiding, is having a bad day. Can someone please go cheer him up so we can have some sun?”
Mack halts.
“Do you really not know who the Winter Prince is?” she asks, concern etched across her face.
Dickwad supreme? But the serious tone of her voice makes me swallow the sarcastic retort on my tongue.
“The Evermore you were taunting back there isn’t the Winter Prince’s bitch,” she continues, exasperation making her voice raise an octave. “He is the Winter Prince, the most powerful and wicked Evermore in this school, and you just publicly insulted him.”
No, no, no. This can’t be happening. “But . . . he talked about himself in third person, for Fae’s sake! Who does that?”
“The Winter Prince and heir to the Winter Court,” she replies. “He does that.”
As we trudge after the group, our boots crunching the snow, one thought echoes through my mind.
Worst. Day. Ever.
16
By the time we make it to the mortal dormitory, the blizzard has made visibility less than two feet. Thanks moody Winter Prince. I’m still having trouble believing the Fae I met in the forest is the Winter Prince, but it makes sense.
It also means I’ve not only pissed off the entire Unseelie side of the academy, but I’ve publicly humiliated their leader. And something tells me they won’t let that stand.
Way to kick off this dumpster fire properly, Summer. And on the very first day. I should win an award for self-sabotage.
The Seelie mortal dormitory sits just over a hill near the main academy building. A well-kept castle that looks like it was taken straight from the University of Oxford, the building is hedged in by forest on three sides and overlooks a frozen pond.
Despite the snow icing the roof and lining the windowsills, green ivy covers the stonework, and violets fill the gardens, a burst of purple and yellow color against the bleached world. Smoke curls from several chimneys and trickles lazily into the cloudy sky.
The plaque above the steel-gray painted door reads Hall of Shadows.
Quaint.
“There’s another Seelie mortal dorm close by,” Mack explains. “This one houses mainly shadows under the Summer and Mythological Creatures Courts’ protection.”
Inside, we’re handed stylish silver cuff bracelets with the Seelie sigil, a sun held by two harpies. Mack explains we don’t take the true sigil of the Evermore we shadow until second year, since we can be traded between Evermore in the same court. It’s less complicated this way.
“Being traded isn’t ideal, but it’s not that bad,” Mack adds as I follow her up a winding set of stairs and pretend not to be winded. “If it happens, it’s usually within the first month.”