“Well,” Dancer said, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re cursed. If I did, I’d stay away from you.” He tilted his head, gazing at Han’s amulet. “As for the flashpiece, it’s more likely it’s because the thing’s extremely powerful, and you don’t know what you’re doing. At least wait until you get a little training before you decide.”

C H A P T E R  T E N

CADET

Raisa opened her eyes to darkness, but she could hear that Talia and Hallie were already up. A flare of light, and then the lamp was lit. She closed her eyes against the glare, wishing she could go back to sleep. But if she did, she’d miss breakfast. And she would need breakfast to get through the morning. After four weeks of classes, she knew that much.

With a shuddering sigh she pushed back the blankets, swung her legs off the bed, and stood in her smallclothes, yawning and stretching. Her spare uniform jacket was draped over a chair back to dry.

Cadets wore buff uniforms that required washing nearly every day in the sodden autumn weather. When they marched on the parade ground, mud splashed up their breeches to their knees. Because of that, or because of the drab color, students from the other side of the river called them dirtbacks.

Raisa poked at her jacket as she passed by. Still damp. Nothing ever dried in this miserable climate. She thrust away memories of a life in which clean clothes magically appeared whenever she needed them. With several ensembles to choose from.

Somebody had been washing those clothes, she thought. And doing the mending, and all the hundred little tasks she now had to do herself—and to military standards.

Amon had arranged it so that there was no dorm master in residence at Grindell, and Raisa, Talia, and Hallie could share the room on the top floor. This meant that they all had to share the dorm master’s duties—keeping the common areas and washrooms clean, and maintaining a supply of fresh linens for the beds. As the weather cooled, they hauled wood for the fireplaces from the quartermaster’s depot along the river.

Hallie was done in the washroom already; that girl was amazingly efficient. She just skinned her hair back and tied it with a cord, washed her face, and she was done.

Raisa fluffed her cap of hair and regarded her reflection glumly in the polished metal mirror. Would long hair have been easier? She could have tied it back. But thick as it was, it would dry just as slowly as her jacket. She scrubbed her face with cold water, then slid into her damp uniform, making a face as the clammy fabric touched her skin.

She’d be hot soon enough.

Raisa walked out into the sitting room, where Talia was sprawled in a chair, knees draped over the arm, the lamp close by her, reading. She looked up from her book and smiled, marking her place with a finger.