11

Beaumont and Javi stride in, and Dominique breaks off in a monumentally obvious fashion. He starts sorting through the letters again. "Asher, you've got something," he says, passing them a thick envelope. "And Javi!"

Javi takes the envelope from Dominique's hands and smiles. "That's Rosario's handwriting," he says. "I wonder what he's up to."

"You should ask him to tell you secrets about the Academy," Dominique says cheerfully. "And Beaumont…oh, here's something."

Beaumont snatches the typewritten envelope, and Javi cocks his head. "Something secret from your parents?" he says cheerfully.

Asher inhales sharply. Dominique grimaces and gestures frantically at Javi to stop, but Beaumont's face has already gone stony. "If they can send me letters from beyond the grave, that would be a wonderful surprise," Beaumont snaps.

Javi's expression falls, and he looks stricken. "I didn't mean…"

In a flash, you recall where you've read Beaumont's name: in a newspaper article a few years ago about a sailing accident. Most of the family died, including Beaumont's parents and cousins. Laurie Beaumont was the sole survivor.

It's common knowledge," you say, frowning at Javi. "You don't have to rub it in."

Javi huffs. "That's not what I meant at all."

Javi hunches his shoulders, mutters an apology, and stalks off towards the kitchen. Dominique returns to his letter, and as he reads, his face falls.

Beaumont grabs their long, charcoal-colored coat. "I'm going to check on Patch at the kennels. Anyone coming?"

Dominique's still frowning at his letter. "I don't think so. Sorry."

Beaumont glances at you with a questioning expression.

"I'll stick around here," you say. Beaumont looks between the four of you, shrugs, and finishes buttoning their coat before leaving the room. After a couple of minutes, you hear the Vercher door close. Dominique excuses himself and goes to his room, leaving you and Asher to find Javi in the kitchen.

Next

Javi is rummaging in the cupboards. "What?" he snaps as you and Asher approach. "I didn't know that about Beaumont's family. It was a mistake."

Javi sighs.

He swings his satchel angrily over his shoulder. Asher is tense at your side.

"Look," he snaps. "I don't need you taking over everything the way you did at Rosario's wedding."

As far as you recall it, Javi was the one who disrupted your speech. Now he's making everything look like your fault again.

You face Javi, but your palms feel clammy and your heart's pounding.

He folds his arms, wrinkling his shirt.

"My parents told me they and your family want us to marry," he says, his voice low. "It was just hints before, but now they're really pushing it. Well, it's not happening. I can tell you that much."

You put on a concerned look. "King Mateo wants us to marry?" you say, as though you hadn't received a letter saying that very thing only recently.

Javi spreads his hands with an irritated expression. "You need to work on your acting," he says. "Yes. That's what's happening, and you'd better decide what you're going to do about it."

Javi avoids your gaze. For a second, you wonder whether he could be protesting too much over this. Perhaps there's something else going on here.

You let your mouth curve into a smile. "Whatever happens," you say, "we can see where it goes." Out of the corner of your eye, you see Asher's shoulders go very rigid. Javi's eyes meet yours. His mouth tightens, but he can't look away. "I…" he starts to say.

Then the moment passes, and he tears his gaze away.

"Don't be ridiculous," he mutters.

The bell rings. He turns on his heel, leaving you and Asher alone.

According to the timetable, it's time for a group meeting in the theater. You hasten across the grounds.

Next

Asher excuses themself to check the perimeter, and you enter the theater quickly. It's an entire building with the baroque look of a theater of two centuries ago, with a vast proscenium arch soaring overhead. Plush seats and velvet-lined boxes surround the stage upon which Pascal, Vere and Clemence stand; the lighting gives a warm glow to the whole place.

Once you have found your seats, you eye some of the other final-year students. You recognize a few from your bigger classes. There's Yannick, a slender, excited-looking boy with shaved hair who's holding forth to his companions about something you can't hear, while Gabi in the front hunches over their notebook, scribbling furiously. Mai, a heavily muscled girl with red hair, has put her feet on the seat in front of her, glaring at anyone who might complain.

Pascal claps his hands, and the theater falls silent.

Next

Leadership Class," Pascal says, "is one of the most important aspects of life at Archambault as a final-year. We have three from which to choose."

He pauses for effect.

"The first," he says, "is Drama Club. Traditionally, I direct, but it will be the Drama Club's choice which play we put on in the spring, and of course you'll perform and run the entire thing."

Close by, Javi is talking to his companions. You hear him saying, "Obviously I'll be the leading role. I won't have it any other way."

Javi looks over his shoulder at you, scowling. "Do what you like," he says. "I'm absolutely being the star, whatever you think."

Upon the stage, Vere steps forward. "I run the second Leadership Class, the Athletics Team. I won't pontificate," she says with a brief glance at Pascal, "so this will be brief. The Athletics Team gives you the chance to be part of a group of elite athletes. You'll hone your bodies and minds to beat the opposition. If that sounds like you, sign up."

A murmur of excitement ripples around the theater. You see Javi examining his fingernails studiously, while Dominique grimaces and sinks down in his seat.

Beaumont squares their shoulders and cracks their knuckles with a determined expression. They glance over at you. "That'll be me," they say.