Dreamless nights are so cold.

  My legions grow in number and yet I have never felt more alone.

  Year three

  Third year at the Academy is done for me. I finished the st of my exams in the first half of Taz.

  Exams involving physical efforts were trivial, but the dutiful daughter that I am I heeded my mother's advice and did not stand out. Well, almost. During one exam we were throwing discus and spears and I accidentally threw a spear just a little too far. Grandmaster Vidar and his apprentice concluded that winds allowed the spear to fly an additional distance. There is no need to mention that to Mom.

  The three of us are in the Great Library. Michael found a secluded area. One of the upper reading alcoves, so we could allow ourselves the luxury of whispers. There is a bee's nest worth of such reading nooks and niches on multiple levels. A few borrowed Cobalts and Ambers pced upon a cozy stonewood table throw their blue and yellow lights over our youthful faces and green coats. There is a protruding reading sb of stone in the room that we used to pce our satchels, emptied iron nterns, and some books. I was surprised to see the hollowed-out small room having a table and three chairs inside.

  Even up here, the pleasant smell of parchment and bound leather is felt. Sometimes a faint smell of people too, mostly grown-ups from down below—not very pleasant, though.

  Hebe and Michael both did mostly well in our giant cave-prison. Hebe has a good head on her shoulders but needs help with the physical aspect of our studies. Earlier today we worked out in the gymnasium outside on the ground level. A few older students nearing their manhood also practiced there and were not so subtle in wanting to help her do proper stances with spear and sword. Dark-red cloaked guards of the Academy stationed there were slightly troubled at the sight but mostly kept their grievances to themselves.

  Michael glides through the physical aspects of the curriculum and I'm fairly certain he has no problems with grasping many useless philosophical concepts and other drudging theoretical knowledge we are taught here, but nevertheless often wishes to study and compare notes.

  The Academy psed their ridiculous restrictions somewhat, at least when it came to boys' hair. Michael's fringe-up haircut pleasingly complimented his deep-set brown eyes and handsome face. His brown hair is cut in an orderly fashion: short on the sides and back with a slightly longer fringe on top, combed to the side. Not a single strand is out of pce. He even has a wisp of a beard on his face, barely noticeable, but there.

  Oh! I almost forgot. I did a little bit of research—you know: a book or two...ah, a dozen or two, really—about Vorzas, reading wherever they are mentioned or hinted at. Most stories vary wildly but a common thread does exist. If you are blessed with Genesis you cannot be a Vorza. It was a relief to learn this, but there were no mentions about...well, what in the almighty Aegis is wrong with me.

  I managed to steal three sweet apples, red and fat, from the Hall—the lofty cavern where all the students eat. I'm pretty sure the apples were reserved for Bck Breakers or maybe grandmasters, I don't know. Naturally, I gave two of the delights to my friends. Michael just sighed while taking it while Hebe gave me a worried look. Both of them said their gratitude and pocketed my spoils into their dark green linen coats without much debate. Although, ever since I started biting it with loud crunches Hebe is looking at the tasty red ball as if the fruit might scream its presence. I cannot deny they are feeding us well; however, I'm close to having nightmares about vegetable pottages, rice, or the many tasteless and often gray artificial vegetables they keep thrusting down our throats.

  A few stonewood wax tablets, cute notebook-like things, were on the table, next to the glowing crystals. Both Hebe and Michael had a book in front of them. Her golden stylus was snuggled over her book's gutter; his, in his right hand, twiddled this way and that between his fingers.

  ''I dare you can't wait to go home,'' Hebe says while throwing an occasional gnce at my now almost half-eaten apple.

  ''You are going home, Ann? You didn't say anything.'' Michael seems nearly offended. Hebe throws a small smirk at him.

  I gently tap my mouth with my sleeve. ''Yes, tomorrow. It was hardly worth a note. I'll be spending most of the time in the saddle of a Winged, going there and back.'' All that talk and promise about how we will be visiting our families once every forty days was worth Void's arse. Oh, in the beginning they allowed it, but already during the end of the first and throughout the second year, it was frowned upon to ask to leave home more than once every three months, which is about the st time I saw my parents.

  Michael looks downcast, sort of like me upon seeing tasteless boiled meat in the Hall. He's been out of sorts for a while now. I don't want to prod. Uh. Fine. I do want to prod. But only out of concern. It annoys me to see him like this; and, I have no book in front of me so reading faces is all I have right now.

  I look at him. ''What's wrong?''

  ''What?'' he seems confused.

  ''You look like me while eating boiled meat, or, at least, how I feel while eating it.''

  ''Yes...same look.'' Hebe nods slightly. She looks at me. ''Although, your eyebrows get more gloomy.''

  What does she mean by that?

  She continues. ''Yeah. Like that.''

  I roll my eyes. ''Michael, what's wrong?''

  ''Yeah, Grandpa. Tell us who died on this day.'' Hebe makes a sad expression with her lips, but her dark-green eyes are smiling.

  He gives her a cold stare. ''I...possibly gambled away all my hex on a chariot race.''

  ''Hah!'' Shit, I need to lower my voice. ''You fool,'' I tell him nicely.

  Hebe picks up her golden stylus and points it at Michael while gncing back at her book to read something. ''Serves you right...you fool.''

  Michael begins mockingly, ''Please stop with the outpouring of support. It is too much.''

  Hebe continues to read her book. ''We are helping you. By making you feel worse there's less chance you'll be so stupid again.''

  ''Red faction won three times in a row prior to my race,'' Michael states frustratingly.

  I almost ignore him. ''You wish to make money gambling? Open a gambling house. That's just how it goes.''

  Michael smiles at me. Dark mahogany eyes regard me pyfully. ''I don't think a pilferer should be giving me advice.''

  I smirk while casually throwing the nibbled apple at him. He catches it easily.

  Hebe raises her thin golden eyebrows at both of us. ''Even up here the The Whip might hear us.''

  Suddenly an image of Vice Keeper Sabina smashing my fingers with her stick comes to mind. Worse, Michael and Hebe might lose their library privileges.

  I pce my hand on her shoulder. ''You're right. I'm sorry,'' I whisper. I look at Michael. ''Not my fault our friend is so fond of wasting his riches.''

  Michael throws back the partly-eaten apple, throws it hard at my shoulder. Instinctively, I catch it. His eyes widen for a moment, but then he seems disgusted at himself. The look of disgust is quickly gone and he becomes serious again. He clears his throat silently. ''I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Ann,'' Michael whispers. ''I should go. Should...need to practice the sword...'' He stands up, beginning to gather all his stuff.

  It takes me a moment to realize with a fright that most people wouldn't be able to catch that. He threw the apple in actual anger. I get up and move toward him. ''Michael, I was only teasing. Please sta---''

  ''I have to go,'' he interrupts. ''I have to go. Bye.''

  He picks up his satchel and ntern, and leaves.

  I look at Hebe. ''You said nothing!'' I whisper.

  Hebe simply shrugs. ''I'd just call him a fool.''

  I move to follow him.

  ''Let him be alone. Let it go. You'll only make it worse.''

  Her words bind my legs. ''I can get him some hex.''

  ''You---'' she interrupts herself. ''Ann, are you even listening? That would only make him feel worse. Let it go.''

  She is right. I slouch my shoulders and move to sit next to Hebe.

  It is strange. Sometimes Hebe is like an older sister I never had and sometimes I seem the older one.

  I plunge my head onto her shoulder. ''Stop rolling your eyes.''

  ''I was not.''

  ''And stop smiling.''

  She ughs loudly.

  I raise my head, putting my hand over her mouth. ''Stop it.''

  Her mouth produces a ridiculous sound and I ugh with her.

  ''I apologize deeply for interrupting.'' Vice Keeper Sabina Sabinus regards us from the entrance. Approaching our table silently and death-like, special pads cover her feet. She looks at us both imperiously and then smashes the partly devoured apple on the table with her thin stonewood stick. A tiny chunk of the apple flies into my hair.

  Quietly, so quietly that even I was barely able to hear, The Whip says, ''Fingers or exile.''