"Ah, Matriarch Yalla, Pol. Please, come in."

William's chair rocks as he whips his head around. Burying my fear deep inside, I rise to my feet as gracefully as Mother taught me. The red gryphon glares as he enters the room, every feather slicked close to his skin. It only serves to highlight the muscles of his chest and shoulders, reminding me once again of how dangerous they are.

"Oh, and shut the door. Thank you," Professor Valeron says as Pol pauses. The red gryphon turns slightly and pushes the blue door shut with one forepaw.

"It's nice to see you again, Herleva," the white gryphon says, her tone light and airy like a windswept hill.

It's so strange to watch their beaks form words, to say my name. I bob a curtsey, then tug at William's sleeve. "Get up," I hiss through pleasant lips.

William lurches upright and bows stiffly to the female. Yalla inclines her head, ear tufts pricking forward.

"Sit, sit, everyone," Professor Valeron says, gesturing with both hands. William and I reclaim our chairs while the gryphons rest on their haunches nearby. William tilts his chin up, jaw slightly slack as he stares at the white gryphon's head hovering above his own. The matriarch cocks her head slightly and winks, causing William to flinch in surprise.

"Now that everyone's here, let's start," the professor begins, folding her hands together inside those wide sleeves. "Firstly, let me welcome our two newest recruits, Herleva Montrose and Pol Roninsson. I am Professor Jan Valeron and I will be your advisor while you are under training. You have chosen a challenging path, but the rewards are well worth it in my opinion."

On the far side of the room, Pol makes a small rumbling sound deep in his throat. The professor ignores it, but his mother narrows her eyes in rebuke.

"Because Herleva is five years older than our typical recruits, we had to make some creative decisions in regards to her schedule. Thankfully, due to your private education, you are ahead of your peers," she says, favoring me with a small smile.

My eyebrows lift slightly. I was beginning to think that I'd be stuck with a group of children. By the saints, something has gone right!

"However," the professor continues, "this means that you will be spending most of your day in flight classes." She pulls out a sheet of paper, spins it around, and pushes it across her desk towards me.

As I reach for the schedule, Pol interrupts. "And what am I to do while she's in class all day?" His leonine tail thumps on the worn rug like a heavy piece of rope.

Professor Valeron's braids sway as she looks at him. "You are partners, Pol. You will attend class with her."

The red gryphon's ear tufts flick forward, then rotate backward. "This is ridiculous. I already know how to fly!" he exclaims, partly unfolding his wings.

Yalla hisses a warning, but Professor Valeron leans forward, fixing the red gryphon with a stern gaze. "But you've never flown with a human on your back, correct?"

Pol stills. "No," he replies tightly, drawing his wings in.

"Well, there you have it," Professor Valeron says, nodding. "Now, if you turn to the schedule, Herleva, you'll see that we've placed you and Pol in the beginner classes. Advancement will be at your wingleader's discretion, of course, but I have a feeling you will be catching up with your peers in no time."

I study the schedule: Flight class—five days a week, from eight to four, with half an hour for lunch. Saints, I spoke too soon. Stuck with children and an irascible gryphon for who knows how long.

"You may spend your free time however you like," Professor Valeron continues, "—preferably studying—but please remember that there is a curfew of nine during the weekday and midnight on the weekend. You may visit Balstroud Village by taking the Tunnel. We do ask, however, that you not fly together unsupervised until you have passed your proficiency test. With that being said, any travel to the Rift is strictly forbidden." Leaning back, Professor Valeron taps on a map behind her. It's an aerial layout of the academy complex. Right behind the castle, illustrated in sharp blues and white, is the Rift.

An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. The Rift is a cavernous, icy gorge that cuts deep into the earth and runs along the border between Eastarion and the Iphaecian Wastelands. Five hundred years ago, barbarians from the wastelands rode cold-drakes through gryphon territory and into Eastarion to conquer the kingdom. It was only through a joint effort between our two species that they were able to defeat the enemy and seal them away.

The Rift is a giant tomb—a warning to all the wild tribes of the wastelands to remember their place in the world.

No, you won't find me going there.

"Anyway," the professor says, rising from her chair. "I think it's time that I showed you both where you're going to live. Bring your luggage and follow me, please."

Saints. I forgot that I have to share space with the beast, too.

As we leave her office, a trio of gryphons sits near the bottom of the stairs, chatting. Their conversation stills, eyes narrowing, ear tufts rotating backward as Pol walks out. The red gryphon pauses, nostrils flaring like a bull's.

Saints. What now?

William grips my elbow in a surprise move that causes me to yelp and directs me away from the landing.

"Tcha," Yalla mutters, clacking her beak. She pushes past Pol and makes her way down the stairs, wingtips fluttering against her haunches.

"Matriarch," the gryphons murmur, bowing their heads one by one.

Yalla nods perfunctorily and continues down another flight of stairs. Professor Valeron slips by William and I and addresses the trio. "None of this posturing, gentlemen. Off to your classes." She makes a shooing motion with both hands, as if these large creatures are errant children or small dogs.

"Yes, Professor," the gryphons chorus. Their words are obedient, but the dirty looks they shoot Pol as they disappear down a corridor are anything but respectful. The red gryphon rolls his shoulder blades and follows his mother, tail tip lashing his ankles.

"What the hell was that all about?" William bends low and whispers in my ear.

"I have no idea."

"I don't like this, Livvy. These beasts are going to get you killed."

I grit my teeth, fingers tightening on the handle of my suitcase. Then you should get a saints-damned job! Mother always said that it was improper for a lady to argue in public, so I hold my tongue and trail after the professor and gryphons.

Professor Valeron chats as we walk outside into the sharp mountain air, pointing out various landmarks that I should know, such as the training grounds at the back of the academy. "Field" or "plain" might be a more appropriate designation, I note as we circle its outer edge. It's only slightly smaller than Kenilworth Park back home—a place for the nobility and the elite to go for rides or stroll along the lake. Unlike the park's pristine, lush landscape, this place is a large swatch of hearty, close-cropped grey-green grass studded with giant poles jammed into the ground. At least a dozen metal rings hang suspended between some of them, while others have small platforms nailed to the top.

Below the training grounds, down a sloping gravel path, is a larger block of apartments. Four buildings of wood and stone are arranged around a dirt courtyard, with six apartments per section. Each apartment is built like the ones I saw on my previous trip—an entrance on the bottom floor and a platform with a canvas flap on the second story. Gryphons lounge on the platforms, some in pairs or threes. Our arrival creates somewhat of a stir, for some of them begin to nudge each other, pointing down towards us with long, black claws. While Yalla doesn't appear to notice, Pol hunches his shoulders and lowers his head, avoiding looking up.

By the time Professor Valeron stops in front of the last apartment in the fourth building, my feet ache fiercely and my fingers are cramped from holding onto the suitcase. The wind tugs at my bonnet as I drop the suitcase onto the ground, not caring if it falls over. I bite my lower lip and massage my fingers, trying to work the feeling back into them.

"Welcome home," the professor announces, stepping up to the front door and unlocking it. "Pol, Yalla, you may fly up and we'll meet you inside."

The white gryphon does not hesitate; her long, thin wings snap out and she leaps into the air, thrusting downward with one powerful stroke. Between one breath and the next, she lands delicately on the platform and disappears behind the canvas flap.

Pol glances at us, then over at the apartment next door. I follow his gaze and see that a green gryphon with dark grey hindquarters is lounging on her platform, ringed tail tip flicking idly back and forth. A small smile curls the edges of the gryphon's beak as she rests her chin on one forepaw like a human.

Snorting, Pol leaps onto the platform, barely opening his wings. The gryphon next door chuckles and shakes her head back and forth as if lost in a personal jest.

It seems that gossip and intrigue aren't the sole domain of the elite, I note as I follow the professor inside. At least I can navigate these waters.

"Saints, what a dump," William remarks as he stands in the foyer—or what passes for one in the apartment.

I agree wholeheartedly. A scuffed wooden staircase with mismatched planks and a chipped balustrade immediately greets me once I walk through the door. This is what I always imagined the tenement houses in the working district would look like inside. Painfully small, yet somehow able to fit eight people.

A large red body passes by the top of the stairs, followed by a white one. I blink, not quite believing what I just witnessed. The gryphon can just walk through? Lovely.

"Not everyone is as fortunate as you, Master Montrose," the professor remarks, turning around in a swirl of green and purple. She fixes my brother with a pointed look.

"Uh, well ..." William coughs and looks around for a place to put down my suitcase. A dark red flush spreads across his neck and disappears beneath his loosened cravat.

"I thought so," Professor Valeron says. "Let's continue, shall we?"

We leave my luggage by the door and the professor leads William and I through a parlor half the size of our pantry back home. A mismatched sofa and wing-backed armchair of indeterminate origin press up against each other. A small round table sits between them, holding a small potted plant with large, spade-shaped leaves and tangled vines that tumble to the floor. As we walk through the parlor, I nearly trip on a threadbare brown and gold rug. Again with the muted color scheme. Saints, I thought that was the floor!

Beyond the parlor is the kitchen. I bite my lip as I study the cast iron stove with two hobs, butcher block countertops, and a small icebox. Since our fortunes fell, Mother and I have had to learn how to prepare meals. Cook still comes around, but only three times a week. So far, no one has gotten sick.

"The handbook stated that there is a cafeteria in the castle?" I ask carefully, sweeping a finger along the range. Claws scrape on the floor above my head as the gryphons move around. My lips purse as I glance up at the ceiling. Surely Pol can wear some sort of protective covering over his paws?

"There is," Professor Valeron agrees. "But we encourage students to be self-sufficient and learn to cook for themselves." She reaches up and pats a worn, chipped cabinet above the stovetop.

I stare at the stove top, then open up the oven. It's an ancient model; Father had one in the warehouse as a conversation piece. At least it looks like it's hooked up to gas. Now I have to learn how to use it without blowing myself up. I sigh and brush my hands along the sides of my skirt.

"And finally," the professor says, slipping past me, "there's your bedroom."

William and I leave the little decrepit kitchen and follow Professor Valeron back through the parlor to the foyer. There's a door next to the staircase leading into what can only be the largest room on this floor.

Not as large as my bedroom back home, but compared to the parlor and kitchen, it's an improvement.

At least, that's what I think until I see the furnishings. A bed that is only a quarter of the size of my four-poster rests up against the far wall. A heavy green quilt lies on top, along with two other quilts hanging off the footboard. Two dressers bookend the bed, more relics from decades long past. I don't even recognize the style, so I wonder if these were somehow cobbled together here. The uneven drawers certainly point to amateur involvement.

A small desk and chair sans padding sits next to the door, with a bundle wrapped in old canvas lying atop it. Long, heavy dark curtains frame a large window that faces the courtyard. At the very end of the room, an open door reveals a chipped, claw-footed porcelain tub.

Saints, I pray there is a toilet in there. I have no designs on using any sort of outhouse in this climate.

"Pol will, of course, have the upper floor to himself," the professor is saying as I poke my head inside the bathroom. Ah, yes, there is a toilet in there! Not new, oh no, but what in this apartment is?

"Why?" William asks, staring up at the ceiling as the gryphons continue to move around. "Surely he doesn't need that much room."

Professor Valeron pauses, one hand on the worn desktop. "He most certainly does, Master Montrose."

"Horses are perfectly fine in stalls a quarter of that size," William argues.

Professor Valeron lifts an eyebrow. "I fear for the health of your horses if that is your outlook," she replies sardonically.

William's jaw tightens, but he swallows whatever he is about to say. I shoot my brother a look and continue scanning my meager lodgings. Saints, it's not much—it's barely enough—but it will have to do. I have no other choice.

"Well," the professor says, pushing off the desk, "I think it is time for goodbyes. Herleva needs to get situated and ready for class tomorrow."

My heart thumps in my chest. This is it, I realize with growing horror. The moment has come. I knew that William would have to eventually leave, but as long as he was here, I could stave off the inevitable.

My brother looks at the professor, then at me. "I can help her unpack."

My eyes widen. When has William been solicitous?

"No," Professor Valeron states firmly. "It's time that your sister learns to fly on her own."

I swallow, hands clutching at my skirts.

"But the train doesn't arrive for hours," he argues.

Professor Valeron is moving, slowly easing William backward until he returns to the small foyer. "You are welcome to wait in the village until the next train arrives, but it's time for you to go."

"I—"

Professor Valeron folds her arms. "Say your goodbyes."

My feet drag along the bare floor as I ease past the professor and look up at my brother, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. "Goodbye, Willy."

His chin tilts down as he clutches his top hat with both hands. A lop-sided smile stretches his lips. "Don't die, Livvy," he replies, leaning down to press a kiss on the top of my head.

The gryphons are dragging something around upstairs. I glance at the ceiling and take a deep breath. "I'll try not to."

William looks over my shoulder at the professor, then leans down to embrace me. The gesture is sudden and unexpected. I can't remember the last time I hugged my brother. My arms come up and awkwardly pat him on the back.

"I'll try to get a job," he whispers in my ear before abruptly pulling away. I'm left standing in the foyer mouth slightly agape as he jams his top hat onto his head. "Don't forget to write." And then he's out the door, leaving me alone on a mountain with a gryphon.

Professor Valeron comes up behind me and lays a hand on my shoulder. "Let's get you unpacked."