Spycraft Academy B. Miles (new ebook reader txt) 📖

Just then, the massive front doors creaked open and a hush fell over the gathered students.

"Finally," Mattie huffed from his left side.

"Isn't he an eerie one?" Drina muttered from his right.

A thin man strolled from the front doors. He might have been wispy if not for his stately height that made him seem more phantom than man. His face was stormy and almost wrathful, scowling at nothing in particular. He walked with purpose and focus, his entire countenance both intense and intimidating. His long snow-white hair was almost the same hue as his skin, and his light red eyes made him look even more menacing. Like death embodied.

That was Gregory Mode. It was said that he was once the enchanter of the wild court far to the forbidden north, past Laum and any comprehensible maps. Some said he was a retired assassin, one of the very few in existence to even make it to retirement age. And still others said that he was the bastard son of the late King Torian, shackled as headmaster to the school by his half-sister, Queen Rhean, so that he could never have a chance to further his reputation at court and become favorable for the throne.

The headmaster halted abruptly between the grass and the concrete walk, leaving a few feet between himself and the first row of students. His red gaze rolled over them and a bubble of dread filled Sam's stomach when he met the man's eyes for a fleeting moment. Mode's white eyebrows furrowed deeper as he surveyed them, passing over again and again while others filtered out of the open doors behind him.

Some of them were younger than Mode, some were older, but they all carried a certain air about them that, while not as lethal as Mode's, was still capable and experienced all the same. Teachers, if Sam had to guess. They gathered behind the headmaster in two perfectly symmetrical rows, like Mode's extra arms. When the last of them took their place, Mode cleared his throat and folded his arms behind his back in a classic military stance.

"Welcome, students," he said. His voice was disarmingly deep and guttural. It had a cold edge to it that brooked no argument or embellishment. "I am your Headmaster, Gregory Mode, and I would like to congratulate all fifty of you on your admittance to the Varin Academy for Outstanding Young Adults. Every year, we receive hundreds of applications, and you are the ones who made the cut. Be it because of your exceptional skills in subterfuge, your unique talents with magic, or both, our administration has selected you for the potential we believe you have, and the service you can perform for the empire."

Sam frowned and looked questioningly at Mattie, who looked just as confused. They never applied. If that was the usual way, then they must have really stood out. The question of how the administration knew to look for them was worrisome. Sam had assumed that they just surveyed the city at night to spot thieves and the like, but maybe he and Mattie left behind a trail on accident. Maybe they had been close to getting caught, or an active investigation was underway. Something had to tip the administration off, after all.

"Unfortunately, of the fifty of you, only half will pass your first-year exams and move onto the next steps in your education. This half will become part of our elite military unit after the fifth-year final exams. You will be the tip of the spear in Varin's campaign against the Meerans, and with any luck, it will be you who may finally bring an end to this war."

Mode gestured to the teachers flanking him. "These will be your instructors throughout your time at the Varin School. They will push you to your limits to hone your skills. By your third year, you will be sorted into specialized training. Some of you will be spies, some assassins, some will be shadow officers, and some will be in front-line combat as support units for our foot soldiers."

Eight adults broke away from the ranks and stepped forward without prompting.

"And without further ado, I will introduce your instructors. Professor Parin is our tracking and outdoors master. Professor Sheet is our meditation and magic instructor . . ."

As Mode began introducing the teachers, Sam got the sense that he was winding down from his speech from the way his voice lost its angry intensity and took on an almost mechanical quality. It seemed that the other students got the same impression, for they were beginning to subtly move and shuffle within the small crowd.

Sam looked from the left to the right. People were eyeballing one another and gathering into smaller clusters.

He slipped his arm around Mattie and bent his head slightly to whisper in her hair. "We gotta get a new crew together."

She frowned heavily and gave him a doubtful look, so he flicked his eyes to the side. She followed his gaze to the small group he was looking at.

Mattie looked around at the others and realization dawned on her face. Everybody else was already gravitating into crews whether they knew it or not. Maybe it was just instinct for humans to try and find allies among a sea of new faces, or, unlikely as it was, maybe the nobles knew a bit more about street survival than Sam realized.

"—welcome, once again, to the Varin Academy for Outstanding Young Adults. I wish you a prosperous semester and all the best of luck. You are dismissed. Gyna will escort you all to the mess hall for your afternoon meal."

He gave them all a curt nod, spun on his heel, then slunk back into the huge main campus building, his large collection of professors milling after him. Gyna stepped into the spot the headmaster had occupied only moments before and shouted for all of them to follow her.

The mess hall was eerily quiet. Sam expected to see a