Pennyroyal Academy Read Online Free Page B

from one of the most prestigious families in the Western Kingdoms. They say he killed his first dragon before age twelve. You know him better than I do, but it seems he might actually be perfect.”
    The girl looked across the courtyard to where she had last seen Remington. He hadn’t said a word about killing a dragon, but then, she supposed she had never asked.
    Suddenly, Magdalena clutched the girl’s arm, her eyes wide. A tall girl with hair like spun silk and soft, beautiful features joined the queue behind them. She wore an immaculate pale blue tunic dress with intricate gold embroidery along the trim.
    â€œBegging your pardon,” said Magdalena, “but princesses of the blood queue up over there, Your Serene and Exalted Highness—”
    â€œDon’t call me that!” the blond girl said, cringing. Magdalena blanched, as though she had just made a horrible mistake.
    â€œBut . . . but you’re a Blackmarsh royal—”
    â€œAye, and I hate that bloody address.”
    â€œForgive me, Highness.” Magdalena lowered her head and dipped a knee. Then she elbowed the girl in spiderwebs, who did the same.
    â€œCall me Demetra. Please. And stop doing that.”
    â€œYes, Highness.” The girls straightened up. “I’m Magdalena, of Sevigny. Maggie.”
    â€œSevigny?”
    â€œIt’s in the south. Beyond the Valley of Giants. No one’s heard of it.”
    â€œAnd you?” said Demetra, turning to the girl. “I see I’m not the only one whose parents couldn’t be bothered to turn up.”
    â€œMy parents don’t know I’m here.”
    â€œDon’t they?” said Maggie. “How scandalous!”
    â€œWho’s next?” said the old woman at the enlistment table. “Step lively, we’re running behind.”
    â€œI think that’s you,” said Demetra.
    The girl turned. Sure enough, they had reached the front of the queue. She stepped forward, then looked back to Demetra and Maggie for guidance. They gave her a smile, but were already busy chatting about something else.
    â€œName, please,” said the old woman, her quill tip hovering over her parchment. “Go on, child, what’s your name?”
    â€œI’m sorry, I . . . I don’t have one.”
    The old woman removed her eyeglasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Siblings?”
    â€œI have a sister.”
    â€œAnd I’ll wager she hasn’t been to the Academy, has she?” The old woman ran her weary eyes over the tangle of webs, strewn with souvenirs of the forest.
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œWhere are your people from?”
    With rising panic, the girl glanced back to Maggie and Demetra, but they were still deep in conversation.
    â€œHeadmistress! Over here, please!” sang the old woman, waggling her thick fingers.
    Slowly, with captivating elegance, a woman with a jeweled crown and a stern bearing turned to face them. The Headmistress wore a luxuriant golden dress, the graceful arc of her crown resting atop cropped white hair. She excused herself from her conversation and strode the length of the table. The sophistication and grace she exuded from afar melted away as she drew near, replaced by an inscrutable coldness.
    Another woman followed the Headmistress, angular and thin and scowling, her face as lumpy as a bag of frogs. “Spiderwebs,” this other woman snarled, scratching a quill across one of the parchments she kept clipped to a piece of snakewood bark.
    â€œTerribly sorry to interrupt, Headmistress,” said the old woman at the table. “It’s bloody hard work trying to sort these common girls out.”
    â€œNot at all. How may Corporal Liverwort and I be of assistance?” It was a voice of authority, of lifetimes of experience.
    â€œI reckon it’ll be another memory curse, Mum. Doesn’t know her name or family.”
    â€œNot