School Days: A Hexborn Excerpt

Shiloh was, naturally, the first to arrive for Master Jonn’s tutorial. Tentatively, she pushed open the door to find a shabbily cozy office. A fireplace surrounded by a handful of upholstered chairs dominated the room; a desk piled high with books and papers stood opposite the hearth.

A set of open double doors separated the office from a large laboratory. The sight of it stole Shiloh’s breath. Six rows of work benches filled the well-lit space. Potions in progress dominated one bench, bubbling in elaborate contraptions of glass, while other tables bowed beneath the weight of various plants and captive creatures. Some of the plants Shiloh recognized as medicinal. Others appeared to be crop samples afflicted with various blights. A young man—Shiloh assumed him to be Master Jonn—peered down at a cage full of rodents, a water wand in his hand and a magnifying glass held to his eye. She fairly itched to examine it all.

The door behind her creaked, and Shiloh turned to see two other girls enter. One had kind eyes and gave her a hesitant half-smile, but the other kept her nose firmly in the air. They both took chairs near the fire. Shiloh followed their example but kept her distance, choosing a seat across from the pair.

“Ah, we’re all here,” Master Jonn declared, stepping in from the laboratory and closing the doors behind him. “Let’s get started. We have a new student joining us.” He looked down at one of the papers on his desk. “I’m Jonn Gateborn. Shiloh Teethborn, is it?” he asked, his smile warm and welcoming. “Silas mentioned you to me.”

“Yes, Master,” she replied, nodding her head in greeting. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Ladies?” Master Jonn prompted. “Shall we introduce ourselves?”

“I’m Penn Warwick,” the kind one offered. The other girl said nothing, and a long-suffering expression came over Jonn’s face. Penn broke the awkward silence by adding, “And this is Lady Hana Kramer, Lord Penfield’s eldest daughter.”

Jonn took the seat between Shiloh and Penn. “Now, Shiloh won’t have done the reading for today, but how did the two of you find the new article on Kirshan’s Hex?”

“Is it the one by Fergoss, from the university in Vreeland?” Shiloh asked, eyes brightening.

Jonn smiled. “Why, yes, it is. Have you read it?”

“Yes, Master,” she replied. “My teacher subscribed to their journal. I found it fascinating.” She was overcome with self-consciousness when Penn shot her an impressed look and Hana rolled her eyes.

“I found it dull as dishwater,” Hana declared.

“Of course you did,” Jonn sighed.

“Well, I’m not likely ever to be on a battlefield, am I?” Hana shot back.

“No, not likely, my lady,” Jonn allowed with a shake of his head. “Penn, why don’t you share your thoughts? How did you find his argument on the alternative use of Comfort Potion in a topical formulation?”

Shiloh felt her anxiety dissipate as Penn began to speak in a soft, shy voice, and as Jonn patiently encouraged her to elaborate.

I can do this, Shiloh told herself.

I can do this.

***

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Fear and Feralfolk: A Hexborn Excerpt

Shiloh forced herself not to look away when they rode by what was left of the Feralfolk who’d attacked the previous winter. Edmun would have wanted her to face the truth. Their bodies had been mostly consumed by the fireball, but the scorched bones had been left behind. The elders had insisted on mounting the skulls for a warning, and Edmun had gone along with them.

So far, it had been effective. There hadn’t been a raid in eight months. Not so much as a single goat had gone missing. Shiloh wondered if the warning would continue to work once word got around that the pink-haired monster had left town.

“You have to accept what happened,” Edmun had insisted. She’d spent days after her father’s death sitting in the dark, neither eating nor sleeping, neither weeping nor raging. She’d just sat, like a stone. He had insisted on dragging her out into the light. “I know it is terribly painful, my dear poppet, but you simply must.”

It had been so strange, to watch her teacher puttering around her father’s house, doing her chores, fixing her meals, taking care of her as she had him for the previous decade. Watching the frail old man trying his damnedest to prepare her a bath had finally broken through her ice and allowed her to cry.

And she had faced it all, in the end. She had buried her father properly, with all the rites. She had faced the pile of smoldering corpses she’d produced in her paroxysm of grief. She had faced her terrified neighbors at Temple and at market. She had faced Edmun every morning, faced his sad eyes and his declining health. At least Edmun hadn’t been afraid of her, even after the Feralfolk.

She wondered how the people at court would see her. Would she just be a country mouse, poor and ignored by her betters? Would she be taunted for her condition, as she had been in her village? Would they learn to both fear her and need her, as her neighbors had? Would they know what she had done?

Will the king decide he doesn’t want me alive after all?

***

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