I stare up at the fortress that is Frostwing Academy, the acrid stench from the train lingering in my nostrils. The first time I was here, I paid it no mind, intent on getting inside and pleading my case to be accepted. Now I stand at the edge of the vast courtyard and realize that this will be my home for as long as it takes to pay off my debt. Saints save me.

"This is it, eh?" My brother William tips his top hat back and scratches near his hairline. "Never thought I'd find myself here one day." He pauses and looks down at me. "Especially you."

I shoot my brother a dirty look and adjust the ribbon on my bonnet as a strong gust of wind threatens to knock it off. How is one supposed to go outside without having everything blown into disarray?

William chuckles wryly and offers me his arm. For someone who has spent the last six months deep in his cups, annoying the members of his gentlemen's club with his relationship woes, my brother is remarkably nonchalant about his middle sister riding gryphons for a living. I suppose it's better than the alternative.

Mother, of course, refused to see me off. Ever since Father failed to get Dean Yoren to cancel my contract, she's remained in bed most days with a cold compress on her forehead. Mathilda begged to come, but Mother would have none of it. Of the four of them, it's my little sister I'll miss the most.

"Look at that."

I look up, following the line of William's finger. Circling the towers of the fortress academy is a group of three gryphons: one grey, one brown, and one black. Their riders are hunched over the gryphons' necks, moving in sync with the great beasts as they drop lower and lower, massive wings outstretched. I clutch my suitcase tightly as the trio coasts over the parapets and drop out of sight behind the academy. My breath catches in my chest and I swallow against the rising panic.

That will be me, soon—if the gryphon doesn't kill me first.

William nudges me. "Rethinking your decision, little sister?"

My chin lifts sharply, eyes narrowing at the smirk that stretches across his face. "I wouldn't be here if you had gotten off your arse and found employment!" I snap, directing my unease towards William.

The smirk vanishes, replaced by thinned lips and a set jaw. "That was a low blow, Livvy," he growls. "It's not that easy."

I raise an eyebrow and gesture at the academy. "It seems to be very easy, Willy."

William grimaces at the childhood nickname. "Let's get you inside and settled before I forget my manners." He reaches down and grabs the handles of my other suitcase, making for the academy doors with long, purposeful strides.

An unladylike snort rises to the surface and I lift a gloved hand to my face, turning it into a cough. Forget his manners? Saints preserve me from another scandal!

I hurry across the courtyard as demurely as possible, catching up to William on the academy steps. My brother studies the massive oak and iron doors, scarred by claws and stained by soot from a long-ago fire.

"Is anyone here to show us in?"

My lips curl into a half-smile as I reach forward and grab one of the massive iron rings that serve as a handle. "We show ourselves in." I grit my teeth and tug. The look of surprise on my brother's face is priceless as the giant door easily swings open, quiet as a whisper.

"I fear for your safety, sister, if this is all that stands between you and an intruder."

"We have far more defenses than you realize, young master."

The deep, rolling voice causes William and I to jump. The handle of my suitcase slips through my fingers and lands with a thud on a worn blue rug just inside the door.

A massive white and black-striped gryphon stands in the middle of the hallway, head cocked slightly, one edge of his black beak curled in a smile. "And who do we have here?" he asks, taking a few steps forward.

Both of us take an instinctive step backward. The hall is vast, with doors leading to different areas of the fortress, but the gryphon stands in the center, flanked by sturdy grey stone pillars that support the ceiling. Banners representing each of Eastarion's fourteen provinces hang between the pillars, their fringed edges fluttering gently. There's no doubt in my mind that, despite his size, he could easily capture one or both of us within a few seconds.

William reaches out and treacherously pushes me forward. "Miss Herleva Montrose."

I stumble over the rug and whip my head around to glare at my brother. Spineless, ineffective fool, I snarl.

"Hmm," the gryphon rumbles thoughtfully, straightening his head. A dozen silver rings glitter from his tufted ears as they flick forward. A slim, arched silver band sits atop his head, a point fixed between his icy-blue eyes, while the ends sweep over the arch of his brow ridges. Some sort of pink quartz or crystal is attached to each end—I don't plan on getting too close to examine them at the moment. A silver breastplate wraps around his chest, a similar stone embedded in its center.

"Welcome, Miss Montrose. I am Wingmaster Thorrin Reynardsson. I am in charge of all the flying lessons here at the academy." His wingtips rustle against his flanks as he turns around, showing off powerful hindquarters and a long, heavy tail as snowy as his plumage and striped black like a cat's. "Please follow me. I will take you to Professor Valeron."

I shoot a glance at William as the gryphon begins walking.

"You, too, Master Montrose," the beast calls out.

I grab my suitcase and William picks up the other. We follow the white and black gryphon down the long hallway and cross beneath an arch wide enough to allow two creatures to pass by. Beyond the arch is a flurry of activity. Humans—and gryphons!—race up and down stairs, dart across corridors, and blow through doors that somehow do not smash upon the stone walls.

While some of the gryphons are colorful, with red, gold, or blue plumage, most of them are patterned in dull shades of brown, grey, or black. That dullness is reflected in the brown leathers and furs both genders wear. Oh, saints, I moan internally. I shall go mad with the lack of color.

And pants! The young ladies are all wearing pants.

How positively gauche. Mother would faint on the spot.

Wingmaster Thorrin extends a broad wing, preventing us from moving further until the staircase and surrounding area is cleared of traffic. He makes a tsking sound and sweeps discarded feathers out of the way. "Always so," the beast mutters. "This way." He pulls in his wing and directs us up three flights of stairs.

When we reach the top, William's face is flushed with exertion and I lean, unladylike, against the stone banister to catch my breath. If I can't manage the stairs, how am I supposed to do anything around here?

Wingmaster Thorrin's icy-blue eyes study me critically, the black-barred feathers atop his head rising and falling. "It gets easier, Miss Montrose," he rumbles, walking over to a blue door at the far end.

Easier? Swallowing hard, I pick up my suitcase and trudge along the smooth stone floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I see William loosening his white cravat. He sweeps off his top hat and tucks it beneath his arm, revealing curls of dark brown hair plastered to his forehead.

The gryphon glances at me, then reaches up to knock on the blue door. Without waiting for a reply, he pushes it open and declares, "Herleva Montrose and chaperone, Jan. Go on," he adds, waving William and I in with a taloned forepaw.

"Come in!" an airy female voice calls out.

"I'll leave you to it, then," the wingmaster says, turning around.

I peer inside the office. While not as richly appointed as Dean Yoren's, Professor Valeron's room is still inviting—albeit somewhat cluttered. Two large upholstered chairs are perched in front of a desk overflowing with papers, books, and scrolls of varying sizes. Books sit crammed tightly together on sagging shelves dotted with trinkets and ink pots. Maps of Eastarion and the rest of the charted world hang on the opposite wall.

In the middle of this chaos is the professor—a tall, slim woman of middle years. She rises from her desk, pushing back the voluminous sleeves of her green and purple outer robe. A pair of spectacles rest atop her head, held in place by a thick mass of black braids; a smile stretches her warm, umber-hued skin.

"Ah, Miss Montrose, I've been expecting you. I am Professor Valeron. Leave your luggage by the door. Come, sit, both of you."

I watch with interest as her arms move, an elegance of motion in stark juxtaposition to the disarray that surrounds us.

"No, leave the door open," Professor Valeron says to William. My brother pauses with his hand on the door. "We're still waiting for your partner and his mother to arrive."

I freeze, one hand on the back of a chair upholstered in faded blue and purple swirls.

Professor Valeron chuckles. "Oh, believe me, everyone will fit in here," she says, misinterpreting my stricken face. "Just push the chairs together on the right side." The sleeves of her robe sway as she gestures.

Slowly, I sink into the chair and stare at the framed documents behind the professor's desk. Certificates from the University of Holvern in west Eastarion announce her proficiency in teaching, administration, and meteorology. Professor Valeron takes a seat, smiling at William and I as my brother awkwardly sits next to me.

"Why does the gryphon need to be here?" he asks, balancing his top hat on one knee.

The professor doesn't appear surprised at his question. She folds her hands atop the cluttered desk. "Because, dear boy, they are to be a team. They are educated together, train together, live together. It is dangerous work that your sister will be undertaking." She makes a flicking motion with one hand, bits of frayed thread swaying from her sleeve. "It's not just delivering mail. No. There's more to it—far more. It's navigating the wind, maneuvering between mountain peaks, and finding trails only goats and sheep traverse."

Together. Locked in step with a gryphon, for the rest of my life.

Professor Valeron's dark brown eyes meet mine and I realize with a start that she is just as astute as Dean Yoren. Perhaps more so. I may have gotten past the dean, but it's the professors to whom I need to prove myself.

I cannot be afraid. I cannot show weakness.

Tightening my jaw, I sit up straighter in the scratchy chair and straighten the hem of my skirt.

"To succeed, Master Montrose, your sister and Pol Roninsson must be in sync with each other. For it is as a team that they will make their fortunes."

William looks down at his top hat. "I—"

He's interrupted by a knock at the open door. We twist around and see the same small white gryphon from last week standing in the hall. Hovering over her shoulder is a surly red visage with piercing blue eyes.

My gryphon.

My teammate.