Fléchier—French for sure, but also related to Fulcher in Old English, meaning “maker of arrows.” I’m starting to realize these professors’ names must be pseudonyms, given their literal meanings.

There’s the sound of metal hitting metal and I look back at the target board. Another arrow is lodged in the same entry point as Ash’s. The guy who shot it is tall, with hair that’s bleached white and the type of confident posture that makes it hard not to notice him. He winks at me and I smile before I can consider it.

Layla practically pushes me back through the archway and into the flower garden. “How dare you embarrass me like that!”

I stare at her in awe. “I’m pretty sure I embarrassed myself. You, on the other hand, split an arrow in half. And after seeing that, I’m seriously regretting having pissed you off.”

“There are rules, alliances, manners,” Layla says, clearly annoyed with me. “You never interrupt a teacher. And especially not…Professor Fléchier is…Do something like that again and I’m demanding a roommate change.”

I press my lips together. I’ve never seen another student get this mad about talking in class. And I’ve also never seen a teacher react like that. I’m not only out of my element here, but my instincts are all wrong. “I’m sorry, Layla. I really am. I’m just not used to the rules here yet.”

Her expression relaxes a little and she straightens out her already straight cloak. “That’s the second time you’ve apologized to me today.”

I half smile. “You’ll know it’s really bad when I start buying you presents,” I say. “My best friend used to keep an ongoing request list.”

Layla looks at me curiously. “Let’s go,” she says in a tone that tells me she’s not really mad anymore.

She weaves through the flower beds toward the far wall, where gray stone peeks out between the tree trunks, and pushes through a wooden door. I reluctantly leave the cushioned grass, running my hand over a tree trunk as I go. A guard shuts the door behind us. He has an odd scar above his right eyebrow in the shape of an X. Even though he doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s scoping me out, either.

Layla gestures at the high-ceilinged foyer with shields mounted on the wall and a statue of an armored knight. “We’re now in the south side of the building. These shields commemorate some of the most important achievements our Families have made—minus the past two hundred years, of course.”

I take a good look at the shields. Conner’s comments about history play in my mind. But the last time I asked Layla about Families head-on, she got annoyed. Plus, that guard hasn’t taken his eyes off me and it’s giving me the creeps.

“And you know who all these shields belong to?” I say as though I doubt her knowledge.

She scoffs and points to my left. “That one represents Aśoka’s most trusted advisor, that one Alexander the Great’s lover, Julius Caesar’s aunt, Cleopatra’s best friend, Akbar’s cousin, Peter the Great’s councilor, Genghis Khan’s strategist, and Elizabeth the First’s chambermaid. Need I go on?”