‘I shall be writing to the clan chieftains about this! Put with the commoners in a room smaller and less comfortable than a jail cell, which of course is broken into by a young ruffian on the first morning. I had thought when they gave me Sariel that they were taking our peace talks seriously. Now I know I was mistaken,’ the voice railed, full of bitterness and anger.
Fletcher sat up and looked at the speaker, dazed as the blood rushed back to his head. His eyes widened as he saw long diamond shaped ears that cut through silvery hair. A delicate face looked at him through large eyes that were the colour of a clear blue sky. They were filled with distrust and almost looked on the verge of tears. Fletcher was talking to a pale elfish girl, dressed in a lacy nightgown.
He averted his eyes and turned away, speaking up in his defence. ‘Steady on. I was only trying to say hello. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
‘Frighten me? I’m not frightened; I’m angry! Didn’t anyone tell you that these are the girls’ quarters? You’re not allowed in here!’ the elf screeched like a banshee, and slammed the door in Fletcher’s face. He cursed at his stupidity.
‘You moron,’ he muttered to himself.
‘That didn’t sound like it went very well,’ Rory said from behind him, a sympathetic look on his face as he poked his head through the common-room door. Fletcher felt a fool.
‘Why didn’t you tell me these were the girls’ quarters?’ Fletcher snapped, his face reddening as he stormed back into the main chamber.
‘I didn’t know, honest! I guess it makes sense though, now that I think about it, with Genevieve in this bit and there being a spare room next door . . .’ Rory trailed behind him.
‘It’s fine. Just make sure you smarten up before teaching starts, or you’ll embarrass us in front of the nobles,’ Fletcher said, then regretted it. Rory’s cheerful expression faded, and Fletcher took a deep breath.
‘I’m sorry. You’re not to blame. It’s not every day you get a Canid trying to tear your throat out.’ He forced a smile and patted Rory on the back. ‘You were saying something about a spare room?’
‘Sure! Since you’re the last here, all the best rooms have gone. I had a look when I moved in; it’s not great.’
They walked into an almost identical corridor, except for an extra door that had been built at the very end. It looked like an afterthought, more a glorified broom cupboard than anything else.
But the inside was more spacious than Fletcher had hoped for, with a comfortable-looking bed, a large wardrobe and a small writing desk. He grimaced at the open loophole in the wall; he was going to have to stuff it later. There was a uniform folded up on the end of the bed; a navy coloured double-breasted jacket with matching trousers. Fletcher shook it out and groaned. It was threadbare and torn, the brass buttons hanging so loosely that one dangled an inch beneath where it was supposed to be.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll take a look at it for you after breakfast. My mother was a seamstress,’ Genevieve said from the doorway.
‘Thanks,’ Fletcher said, though he wasn’t sure how salvageable it was.
‘So what was she like?’ Genevieve asked, her eyes flashing with curiosity. ‘Is she a southerner like me?’
‘She’s . . . I’m not sure exactly,’ Fletcher said, avoiding the question. Now that he had ruined the girl’s morning, he didn’t want to start gossiping about her as well. Best to let her present herself to the others in her own way. His mind was still reeling from the presence of an elf at the academy. Weren’t they the enemy?
His thoughts were interrupted by the emergence of the imp, who tumbled from his hood to inspect their new abode. The little demon brushed the uniform on to the floor with a flick of its tail, then hummed with content as it rolled on to its back and scratched itself against the rough fabric of the bed covers. Rory’s eyes widened at the sight and Fletcher smiled to himself.
‘What’s a Canid?’ Rory pondered aloud as they walked back into the main chamber. They were soon followed by the imp, who clambered on to Fletcher’s shoulder and surveyed their surroundings with a protective glare.
‘You’ll find out soon enough. They aren’t easy to describe. If your Mites are beetle-demons then I would say a Canid is a dog-demon, if that makes sense,’ Fletcher replied proudly, glad to finally know more about summoning than someone else.
‘Our demons are called Mites?’ Genevieve asked, holding out a palm and letting her blue beetle settle on her hand.
‘I’m not sure; I heard the Provost use the word,’ Fletcher replied, sitting down at the table.
‘Oh well, I just call mine Malachi. Like malachite. You know, because of his colouring,’ Rory said, letting the green beetle scuttle up his arm.
‘Mine is called Azura,’ Genevieve declared, holding the demon to one of the torchlights so that Fletcher could see the cerulean blue of the creature’s carapace. Fletcher paused, feeling awkward as they looked at him expectantly.
‘What’s yours called?’ Rory prompted, as if Fletcher was slow.