This is bad. I wish she said anything. Scream at me! Anything but this silence. Her russet eyes bze through the back of my skull and I keep looking to the side. Miserably, I keep trying to calm my breathing. Her rge rectangur office, which now feels minute, has not many decorations but the books on both long sides. Fnking me on either side, their countless spines form a giant vise whose robust leathery jaws compress my body. A vividly painted marble bust of Teshub Lartia, the Academy's first chairman, in one corner.
Her office is plenty spacious and yet, at this very moment, suffocating. Outlining the longer sides of it are floor-to-ceiling high bookcases that have their shelves stacked with books and red and bck cylindrical containers that encase the many scrolls.
About its corner, her desk has one half-an-arm-high stack of parchment. Three thinly-wrought shafts made of bone are in the middle of the desk, with a half-full, small, closed red jar for ink next to them—the jar is entirely made of carved Crimson. Her leather chair is probably far more comfortable than my straw bed.
Tattoos cover her skin. Strange lines, Genesis symbols, triangles, squares, circles, and the like, all cover her body, even most of her neck is enveloped by them.
''Tell me. If a boy were caught sneaking away from near the girls' dormitory chamber, what would be done to him?'' Finally, after an oblivion of time had passed, she speaks.
''Expulsion.'' I swallow hard, briefly meeting Chairwoman Zaria's regard. I wipe my sweaty palms over my breeches, which somehow makes it worse. My bespoke, pleated, dark-green, linen breeches presently feel incomplete; I'm without my boots or even sandals—they were too loud so I left them behind. To add to my trouble, her dogs took my red woolen cloak and the bronze, ring-shaped fibu I'm very fond of.
''No. First, he would be whipped. Then, dressed in full white, the boy would march between all the Academy and his family out the door, forbidden to ever step foot in here on pain of death.'' Her tone is cold and precise. I find it hard to imagine her ever losing that annoying intangible grace of someone who is in full control over everything.
The purest bck night that envelops her upper body, the Chairwoman's high colr coat reminds me of the luxurious silk that embraces many of the Great Library's books. But it is not silk. It is the enduring cloth the Academy's banners are made of, the cloth worn by Breakers themselves. Nanilu. I have not seen or heard of anyone other than her possessing a garment quite like it.
I focus my eyes. The ruler of this wretched pce wears an intricate pendant crafted in the shape of the Academy's phoenix. The pendant, its chain also, is masterfully smithed of metal I do not recognize—pale gray and with striking wavy lines of purple-gray and shadowy-bck. Like the sandstone's considerable yers, these lines also possess hues of infinite variety. My eyes find no fw; the pendant is immacute.
I stare at her stonewood desk and notice the gorgeous white-yellowish maple wood iny. My mind wishes to escape this room and most of all her gaze.
''So, why should you be treated any differently?''
Because you desperately need Breakers. Because not so long ago csses had forty or more students on average. I believe if I uttered those words Chairwoman would start whipping me right now in this room. ''I...I will have no leftover subjects to transfer. Never had any. I was always exempry---''
'''Was.' That is the key word right now.'' With sleek precise movements, she pulls out a small brown vial from the bottom of her desk. Slowly, she gets up and walks toward me.
My mind becomes a bnk wax tablet. I wish to speak but words elude.
''Made by Grandmaster Meadowsweet herself. Hopefully the potency is still good,'' she mutters the st part almost to herself. ''Drink it all half an hour before.'' She then outstretches her arm. Instinctively I raise my hand and take the vial, not fully understanding. Before I can ask her meaning she starts to shout, ''Guards!''
Two brutes, each armed with a spear, enter the room.
Chairwoman Zaria chains my eyes to hers ironcd-strong, holding them tightly and with as much emotion an eagle might have for a dormouse. ''Student Bolormaa is to be flogged sixteen times. Her entire css is obliged to be in attendance. No grandmasters. I want the main chamber to be empty and ready by the first light tomorrow. Do not take any of her possessions.'' Unmoved in any way, she simply nods toward the door. ''Go.''
''Yes, ma'am.'' The bearded brute on her left utters like a good dog and soon they grab me on both sides.
''Or,'' she lifts her arm, stopping the guards, ''if you tell me the name of the boy you were meeting we can reduce it to eight strikes.''
At first, I do not speak for a few long breaths and simply stare at her. ''I got lost in the night,'' I break the silence with a numb voice.
''Take her.'' There is voidice around the edges of the Chairwoman's voice. One of the first times I've noticed even a flicker of emotions from her.
I could easily run. They stand no chance of stopping me. But she mentioned no expulsion. Dazed I get up, allowing her minions to guide me away—presumably to some pit in the deepest parts of the Academy.
One st time I turn to look at her. There is not a flicker of emotion in those dark eyes. My grip threatens to crush the vial.
