The Reluctant Queen (The Queens of Renthia #2)(51)

She let Alet lead her down the spiral staircase into a dining hall. Set within the tree, the hall was a semicircle and boasted arched ceilings and plenty of windows that overlooked the practice ring. Even the long tables were curved to match the room. Following Alet, Naelin joined a line of students, carrying trays of food. She accepted a heap of potato-like roots, a wedge of nut bread, and a slab of meat smothered in some kind of sauce, as well as a cup of gooseberries. Around them, students chattered and laughed. She was grateful when Alet picked a table apart from them and set her tray down. Joining her, Naelin studied the students. All of them were children. "Ven wants me to go back to school? This won't work."

"You don't have to befriend them," Alet said, dipping her nut bread into the meat sauce. "You just have to learn what they know. Not to put too fine a point on it, but all of them, including the scrawniest pipsqueak who will most likely wash out before the end of the week, know more about your power than you do."

"All I want to know about my power is: How do I get rid of it?" Her stomach rumbled, and she cut into the meat. She tasted a wedge of it. Not as good as a home-cooked roast from a fresh kill, but it was surprisingly decent. She nibbled on it. It was heavily salted and had spices that she didn't recognize-they tickled the tongue, but not unpleasantly, a nice peppery kick. If she could find out who the cook was and ask what kind of spice he or she used . . . She realized Alet was staring at her. "What?"

"You're in the famous Northeast Academy, about to be interviewed by Headmistress Hanna herself, and you still don't want this life?"

"I told you I didn't."

"I thought you'd change your mind once you got here. I thought maybe you were just afraid." She was looking at Naelin with . . . respect? No, not quite. It actually looked a bit like relief.

"I am afraid. Anyone with sense would be." Naelin waved her hand to encompass the academy, the capital, all of it. "I don't belong here, no matter what the queen said. This isn't my world or my fight." Her last words fell into silence as the entire dining hall quieted.

Everyone turned to stare at her, and then turned toward the doorway.

She twisted in her seat to see an elderly woman in a green-and-black robe, accompanied by Champion Ven. His gaze swept the dining hall, searching for someone-for her. Seeing her, he pointed and spoke to the woman.

Naelin tried to read his expression, to judge if he seemed happy to see her, relieved, resigned, any emotion at all, but his face was expressionless and professional. She tried to sort out how she felt, seeing him, and was surprised she'd missed him, though it hadn't been long. A ridiculous reaction, she scolded herself, and blamed Alet's words for planting such thoughts. 

The woman's wrinkled eyes fixed on Naelin, and suddenly Naelin felt five years old, pinned by the glare of her grandmother, a formidable woman who'd taken no nonsense from anyone, especially when it came to interrupting her baking.

Alet handed her the wedge of bread. "Take this with you," she said in a low voice. "I'm told magic makes you hungry. Remember: if you don't want this, then keep saying no. Don't let them change your mind."

Naelin tucked the bread into her skirt. "Thanks," she whispered.

"Candidate Naelin, report for lessons," Ven barked.

All the students shifted again in their seats, and Naelin felt dozens of eyes on her as she weaved her way through the tables of children toward Ven and the older woman, whom she guessed to be Headmistress Hanna. She wondered if she was supposed to bow, salute, or shake hands. She settled on inclining her head respectfully. She glanced up at Ven, hoping for a hint of what was to come.

Naelin didn't know anything about Headmistress Hanna, except that she had featured in several of the bedtime tales that she liked to tell Erian and Llor. In those tales, Headmistress Hanna was the wise, powerful mentor-the woman who had proved herself at the Massacre of the Oaks, who had trained heirs, who had advised queens. She was the calm lake, the bedrock beneath the city, the soft soil that grew the wheat. She was a living legend as much as Champion Ven and Queen Daleina, and Naelin again felt small, insignificant, and horribly out of place. She wanted to tell them they'd made a mistake, and at the same time, she wanted this woman to never look at her with disappointment in her eyes, the way she was right now.

"I know of your objections to training, to all of this. Champion Ven has apprised me of your situation and preferences, and while I sympathize, I reject your conclusions," the headmistress said. Her voice rung clear across the dining hall. "You live in this world. Your children live in this world. Therefore, it is your fight. All that remains is to determine what kind of weapon you have to fight with."