‘I . . . I haven’t really had a chance to name him yet,’ Fletcher muttered with embarrassment. ‘I know he is a Salamander demon, though. Maybe you can help me think up a name over breakfast.’
‘Of course! He’s got a lovely colour to him; I’m sure we can think of something,’ Rory exclaimed.
‘Could we stay away from colours?’ Fletcher said, hoping to come up with something more original. ‘He’s a fire demon. Maybe we can use that.’
As Rory began to answer, a stern-looking matron walked into the room with a heavy basket of sheets and linens.
‘Be off with you! I need to clean. You can wait downstairs with the others instead of getting into mischief up here,’ she scolded, shooing them down the stairs.
‘Shouldn’t we tell the other two?’ Genevieve looked back up as they tramped down the winding staircase.
‘No,’ Fletcher blurted, hoping to avoid the elf for at least another few minutes. ‘The matron will let them know when she gets to their rooms.’
They shrugged and led him the long way down the corridor, making suggestions for names. Fletcher’s imp went back to sleep with a yawn, oblivious to the debate. Fletcher was starting to wonder whether he was allowing the demon to be lazy, as he watched Malachi and Azura zipping around their owners’ heads.
They eventually reached the ground floor and Fletcher was led through the atrium, mouthing an apology at Jeffrey, who was still polishing the floor they were treading on. The boy rolled his eyes with a sad smile and went back to his work.
They walked through the set of large double doors opposite the main entrance across the atrium. This room’s ceiling was substantially lower, yet it was still a huge space that echoed with their footsteps. Large, unlit chandeliers hung at intervals above three rows of long stone tables and benches. The centre of the room was dominated by a statue of a bearded man dressed in elaborate armour, carved with startling attention to detail.
Fletcher was surprised to find only two boys sitting there, spooning porridge into their mouths with gusto. One had black hair and olive skin; he must have been from a village on the border of the Akhad Desert in eastern Hominum. He was handsome, with a chiselled jaw and lively eyes that were hooded with long lashes.
The other boy was chubby, with closely cropped brown hair and a hearty red face. Both waved at him as a servant handed him a tray of porridge, jam and warm bread. When he sat they immediately introduced themselves; the fatter boy was called Atlas and the other Seraph.
‘Is it just you two? Where are the second years?’ Fletcher asked, confused.
‘We eat before they do, thank heavens!’ Atlas mumbled, abandoning his spoon to slurp the porridge up from the edge of the bowl.
‘They need their extra sleep, what with the stress of their more . . . practical lessons,’ Seraph explained, looking at Atlas with a bemused expression. ‘They even have field trips to the frontier once a week. I can’t wait to be in their shoes.’
‘Wait until you’ve been there,’ Genevieve muttered, a hint of sadness in her voice, Fletcher noticed. He knew enough about the front lines to sense that she might have lost someone close to her. Perhaps she was an orphan, like him.
‘Where are your demons?’ Fletcher changed the subject. ‘Have you got Mites like the others?’ He was desperate to see more demons.
‘No, none yet,’ Atlas said with a hint of jealousy. ‘We’re still waiting. They said the teachers would be giving us ours tomorrow. They only had two demons on the day we all arrived.’
‘It was the smart move,’ Seraph said, half to himself. ‘They asked me if I wanted to take one of the Mites or wait. I did my homework, asked some of the servants. Mites are the weakest. It’s better to wait for the chance of a bigger prize.’
Fletcher was intrigued by the mention of better demons. He tried to remember what he had glimpsed in the paintings and carvings around the castle. If only Jeffrey hadn’t been in such a hurry. Still, there would be plenty of time for that later.
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Rory replied, defensive. ‘I wouldn’t trade Malachi for anything.’
Seraph held his hands up in surrender. ‘I meant no offence. I am sure I will feel the same way about my demon when I eventually receive it, Mite or no Mite.’
Rory grunted and went back to his meal.
‘What other kinds of demons do you know of? I’ve only heard of four,’ Fletcher asked Seraph, who seemed to know the most in the group. But before the handsome boy could answer there was a gasp from Atlas. The fat cadet was staring at the door. Fletcher turned and saw what had caused it. A dwarf had entered the room . . . and he had a demon with him.
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