My eyes widen. So then this isn’t some bizarre supplementary prep school with a focus on survival skills, like I thought. It’s the only education these kids seem to think they need. But what kind of a career can you possibly plan on having if your main skill sets are in weapons, history, and deception? Spies? Assassins? Secret service? I want to think I’m wrong and that Dad would never send me here if that were the case, but I honestly can’t understand Layla’s reply. “So what does everyone do if they don’t go to college?” I ask carefully.
She looks at me sideways. “Whatever our Families need us to do,” she says, and turns around. “Try to keep up. We still have a lot to cover.”
I follow her to a gap in the wall of trees, trying to figure out if there is a better way for me to ask what I want to know without getting a cryptic answer or frustrating her. The part that’s making me most uncomfortable is that from what I’ve heard and seen today, this doesn’t seem like the type of place where you pop in for two weeks and leave. I’m now convinced that my dad omitted something important, and I really don’t like the uneasy feeling I’m experiencing as a result.
We pass through an arched doorway formed from vines and into a garden bursting with color. It, too, has a thick tree canopy, well groomed like the last. Only, instead of vines for climbing, this courtyard is decorated with garlands of royal purple berries and white flowers. Purple profusion berries, if I remember correctly from the plant books I’ve always hoarded and refused to let Dad donate to the library. Giant, moss-covered rocks have been sculpted into benches, and blue, purple, and white flowers are arranged in intricate patterns.
“The garden lounge,” Layla says with pride. “Students are allowed to spend free time here during daylight hours. The snow can’t easily make its way through the thick tree canopy, and since there is a hot spring that runs under the school, we get to enjoy the flowers nearly all year round.”
Off the top of my head I know that the UK, France, Iceland, Germany, and Italy all have hot springs, and I’m sure there are more that I don’t even know about, so again the school gives nothing away about its location.
“This place is phenomenal,” I say, breathing in the sweet flowery air. But I can’t fully enjoy it because I’m still hung up on the spy/assassin worry and my dad.
“We have a resident horticulturist who teaches an elective in botany and also works with our poisons teacher,” Layla says. “He never plants anything lethal in here, though,” she adds, registering the look of concern that I’m sure flashed across my face. “That greenhouse is located in the outer perimeter.”
“The outer perimeter?” I ask.
“Between the school and the outermost wall,” Layla says. “Only select faculty members have access to it. It’s also where the food is grown and the dairy cows and hens are kept.” She points to another archway visible through the wall of trees. “Through that way is an open field. There’s an archery class in there right now.”