"Why are their factories built so close to the river, Papa?" I ask as the official ambassador's car drives through the industrial district, its large thin wheels hitting every rut on the road. Smoke stacks belch a continuous stream of thick, black fumes that would no doubt choke me if the windows were down.

"Do you see that mountain?" Papa gestures toward Mama's side of the state car.

I peer over my brothers' lolling heads. In the distance, its form partly shrouded by the disgusting miasma produced by the factories, rises a stately peak. Lodged into its face is a building with a dozen or more thin ramps jutting toward the ground.

"It's a coal mining facility," Papa explains. "The demons use the river to shuttle the coal to the factories."

"How backward," I mutter, shaking my head. None of my research into the demon kingdom of Chthonia mentioned how it was positively polluted.

"Hush, Siah," Mama admonishes, clucking her tongue. "Don't let them hear you say such things."

I would never jeopardize Papa's position, but I don't bring that up. She's been on edge ever since it was announced we would be moving to Chthonia. Instead, I apologize and say to my father, "I wonder how long it will take for the valley to heal after we give them the crystals."

The car rolls over another rut with a bang, causing all of us to yelp—except my sleeping brothers. I grip the back of Papa's seat, nails digging into the leather. Mama's hand flies to her white-blonde braided hair, the same color as mine, patting it to ensure none of the silver pins have somehow jostle free. The angelic driver, part of Papa's ambassadorial detail, apologizes profusely and mutters about the state of demonic highways.

"Well," Papa coughs, straightening the folds of his robe, "there's a lot more to it than that ..."

I bob my head. Part of Papa's job is to facilitate trade agreements between our two countries. One of those involves negotiating the sale of the crystals we use to power everything from our factories and transportation system to heating our homes and buildings. It's a tricky thing, letting the demons have access to our technology. On one hand, it would improve their standard of living; on the other, having sole access to the crystals allowed us to defeat them the last time they declared war.

"Approaching Cinderforge, Your Excellency," the driver announces.

I forget about politics and press my face against the car window, eager to catch my first glimpse of the famed university city. My wings flutter like twin hummingbirds, betraying my excitement.

"Seraphs preserve us," Mama mutters, her arm moving. Even though I can't see it from my position, I know she's making the sign against evil. "Liam, do we have to leave her at this dreadful place?"

Would it be impertinent to remind Mama not to make such signs in the presence of demons? No, I don't think I'll press my luck.

"It's what she wanted to do, Anora," Papa replies patiently as if he's saying it for the first time. I've lost count of how many arguments they've gotten into over my decision to attend St Sybil's University.

Mama sighs and casts a look over her shoulder at me. I flash her a smile and shrug. Perhaps I should have stayed silent and motionless, because Mama states, "There's enough time to pull her out, Liam."

"What!" I exclaim, completely forgetting my manners as the daughter of a diplomat.

Papa glances at me and gives a subtle shake of the head. I clench my fists in my formal robes and sit back as my brothers begin to stir.

"Are we there yet?" twelve-year-old Amos asks, rubbing his eyes. His short black hair is plastered flat against one side of his head. Next to him, eight-year-old Rhian mumbles something incoherent and slumps against the door frame, tiny wings fluttering as he drifts back to sleep.

"Quiet," I hiss. Amos shoots me a glare and punches me in the thigh. "Stop it!" It was much more pleasant when he was unconscious.

"We're not pulling her out," Papa tells her firmly, reaching over the back of his seat to jerk Amos's hand away from me. He points a stern finger at my brother and turns back to Mama. "The chancellor has generously agreed to waive tuition for Siah, remember? Besides, what is she going to do all day?"

"Keep me company," Mama retorts. "I can't entertain guests by myself."

"You have your ladies for that," Papa reminds her.

Yes, I think, ladies who are much better at the job than I am.

"It's the duty of the eldest daughter to help her mother," Mama pouts.

"Your eldest daughter wants to learn," Papa points out. "She is nineteen, Anora. Let the girl have her education."

Mama throws another look over her shoulder. I turn my head to stare out the window. I feel bad—I do. But this whole "eldest daughter" stuff only began to crop up when Papa was appointed to the job. I'm certain Mama doesn't want to be alone. But my father is right—she has her ladies. Two of them are her childhood best friends who left their own families to join us. I'm sure she'll be all right.

"She'll be surrounded by demons." My mother's voice gets smaller, as if she knows she's lost the argument.

"This is Chthonia, my dear," Papa reminds her gently. "An entire country of demons."

Mama's shoulders slump in defeat and I release the folds of my robe, flexing my fingers.

"Are we there yet?" Amos whines plaintively.

Just like that, Mama's spine snaps rigidly and twists around in her seat. "Amos! Look at your hair! Rhian! Wake up!"

I reach out to squeeze my father's shoulder in thanks as Mama leans into the boys. My gaze drifts out the state car window, watching as the factories and their awful pollution fade into the distance. Brown malaise gives way to greenery as we approach the heart of Cinderforge, the home of St Sybil's University. Traffic increases, equal parts cars and horse-drawn carriages.

"That man is purple!" Rhian exclaims, jabbing a finger at the car window. "And the lady is blue!"

Mama makes a strangling sound in her throat and fans herself, her wings beating an anxious tattoo against the leather seats.

Ordinary demons walking through the city pause and stare at the line of cars flapping with the official banners of Seraphim. I can't help myself and give them a little wave.

Rhian is right—they are blue and purple, but also in shades of red and orange. The car passes by them so quickly, but I think I spy horns and tails, too.

The car turns onto a residential street filled with homes crafted of black or grey stone shot through with veins of red or gold. The roofs are either red or black slate, giving them a rather menacing appearance. White-grey smoke drifts from chimneys, another reminder of the differences between our two countries. If I remember correctly, St Sybil's is heated via vast steam boilers, so I won't have to worry about burning my dorm room down.

"St Sybil's University, Your Excellency," the driver announces.

I pull my face from the window and lean forward, gripping the seat between my parents. A demon patrolman stands at the end of the street, directing traffic. He wears a black uniform with a high collar, brass buttons, and a short cap with a wide brim that covers his horns. His eyes widen as he spots the state car and our entourage; he picks up a whistle dangling from a chain around his neck. The piercing sound punctures the interior of the car and he throws his gloved hands out to the side, stopping traffic from crossing.

The patrolman turns and gestures with his tail—a long, whiplike appendage that pops out of a carefully-tailored hole in his trousers.

"I guess that means we can go," Papa says. The driver nods and eases the car across the street to a wide cobblestone driveway bordered by a high wall that looks as if it was carved from obsidian. A golden arch rises overhead, spelling out the name of the university in the demonic alphabet.

My fingers clutch at the folds of my robes as my wings begin to flutter in excitement. I can't believe it—we're here!

Massive oak trees line the cobblestone driveway, throwing dappled shade upon the road. The campus stretches out in front of us. According to the pamphlet that was sent to me in my welcome packet, the placement of St Sybil's buildings was designed to mimic the form of a raven, the holy symbol of its patron saint. My dorm room is located in the right wing of campus, while the main lecture halls are in the body of the bird.

"It's all so sinister," Mama says, shaking her head.

Yes, the all-black architecture is a far cry from the sweeping, elegant towers of home. But that's what makes it exciting—it's not like home.

"It's ugly," Amos states, fussing with his hair.

Papa grunts, fiddling with the collar of his robe. "I'm inclined to agree."

An orange demon wearing a grey suit with a long grey cloak stands in the middle of the road, pointing toward a turn-off. The driver nods at him and turns right, toward a squat triangular building—the beak of the raven. At least a dozen demons wait outside—my welcoming committee.

The car pulls up by a pair of short, neatly trimmed trees and stops. We're here. The driver turns off the car and goes to open his door when Papa stops him. "Let my wife and boys out first," he tells the man.

"What?" Mama asks.

"Just go," Papa says gently, making a shooing gesture. "I just need to say something to Siah in private."

Mama's pale eyebrows lift, but she nods. "Come, boys. On your best behavior!"

I sit with my hands folded into my lap as Papa turns to me. I can't imagine what he has to tell me that we haven't already discussed.

"Siah," Papa begins.

"Yes?"

He sighs. "We are in uncharted territory, my dearest daughter. No angel has attended a demonic university in ... well, I suppose forever."

"I know, Papa. We talked about this."

My father's lips twitch and there's a sadness in his blue eyes that wasn't there the last time we had these discussions. "You are an intelligent, competent young woman. I know that you will study hard and make this family proud with your accomplishments. However ... I offer a word of caution."

I blink. This one is different.

"What is it, Papa?"

He pauses and glances out the window, to where the demons are waiting. "Don't get involved with them," he tells me.

My eyebrows lift. "Involved? Am I not to have friends?" I can't possibly do that. I would certainly go mad if he forbids me from making friends.

He sighs. "No, not that." He pauses again and rubs at his jaw. "I would rather your mother have this conversation with you, but she is too tightly wound at the moment. Do not ... fall in love with one of them."

I stare at him, then laugh. "Oh, Papa. You needn't worry about that!" Romantic attachments are last on my wishlist of things to accomplish at the university.

My father sighs, shoulder sagging with relief. "Good." He runs a hand over his dark hair, smoothing it. "Let's get these introductions over with and get you moved in."