"That can't be Lady Epta's niece," the students whispered. "She barely looks strong enough to string an arrow, let alone be related to Her Ladyship." 

They seemed to multiply in the hallways as the clickety clacking of Evelyn's carriage ticked to a stop.

She stepped out of the stallion-drawn compartment after a few moments, surveying her new environment. As the whispers grew louder, Evelyn's plain brown hair seemed to slip from her braid and cover her face, a perfect veil.

The girl disappeared into the crowd of students, ignoring the stares which bore into her from all sides. Only five classes. You can do this. 

She straightened, fixing her gaze upon some object in the distance. The coarse fiber half-cape uniform itched at her neck but she dare not scratch it. No books, no literature, no absurdly abstract figurative language. Until dusk, at least.

The first session was Strength with Knight Stardash. Evelyn entered the tawny room behind a group of well-built, clearly trained boys. 

One lagged slightly behind, and the others continued walking as if nothing had happened. Evelyn tilted her head at the chestnut-haired boy but didn't linger. Don't trust anyone. If anyone finds out about what you do around books, it's all over.

Her thoughts diminished and scurried away as a broad figure strode into the room, his bulky figure bulging beneath his cape. The students all stood at attentive salute and Evelyn was glad she chose to stand towards the back.

The relief didn't last for long, however, as Knight Stardash took one scan across the room and gestured her forward.

"Perfect," he quavered in a surprisingly stringy voice. "Lady-in-waiting, Evelyn Epta of Astraia. I heard that Her Ladyship can move mountains with her powerful gusts. Let's see how much you've picked up from her brilliance."

Searching the ground for weights, a thin thread seemed to tug at her gut. Her head spun around. Just nervous, she reassured herself, and then...

A piercing shriek stabbed into her mind, ripping through the boundaries and leaving trails of agony in its wake. Wake up. Wake up. Your Majesty. Please. We're dying. The magic is fading. You're our only hope.

She herself screamed as pleas for help dug daggers into her consciousness. It hurts to breathe, she thought, her eyes hazy and her thoughts clouded.

Outside of her head, she heard more faded, more distant yells for a healer and general chaos, but the flames in her brain flashed, dragging her back under.

All she saw was a boy — the chestnut-haired boy that she had followed into the room before everything exploded and the stars swept her away. 

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