The inside of the massive building was just as wonderful; the foyer was a majestic, high-ceilinged room with a grand staircase and corridors leading to classes on the first floor. The whole ground floor consisted of reading rooms, which all opened up into each other. Shelves upon shelves of thousands of books, worn and bound in brown leather, lined the walls, reaching all the way to the top of the high, oak-beamed ceiling. Small tables and benches had been placed in all the rooms, and students quietly worked at their studies while library monitors prowled the corridors. One big table where the chief librarian sat was placed in the center of the massive foyer.
I climbed the stairs and followed the signs to my classroom, which was all the way at the end of the west wing of the structure. I wanted to sit at the back, but Vivienne, who was obviously an extremely eager student, pulled me up to sit in the front with her. I was always very conscious of sitting in the front, not because I didn’t want to learn, but because I was afraid the teacher might call on me or ask me a question, and I wasn’t ready for that.
The class was already full, and the professor, dressed in black robes lined with silver, entered as the last of the students trickled in. She faced the class and waved her hand in a flick; the door slammed shut behind her. “I am Professor Plumpleberry.”
I was relieved. If Penelope was teaching this class, I would be okay. I noted a few girls giggling. Professor Plumpleberry did not hear them or simply chose to ignore them. I had to admit it was a funny name, especially since it suited her so well.
Professor Plumpleberry was not what you would expect of a history and ancient studies teacher. Although I knew she was fae, I wasn’t sure the others had noticed yet. She looked so young and was suitably plump with curly, white-blonde hair. But I knew she was a very old fae and highly skilled at magic.
“Good morning, everyone,” Professor Plumpleberry said jovially, hovering two feet off the ground.
Some of the others gasped. I grinned; I was happy to see Penelope.
“For those of you who have looks on your faces that would give the village idiot a run for his money,” Professor Plumpleberry said, tucking her hair behind her pointed ears, “I am one of the fae, and I am three hundred and ninety-three years old. So if any of you do not think I am qualified to teach ancient studies, you can go to another school. I hear Nerenor has a history teacher who is well into his fifties. I’m sure he can give you as much illumination on the state of our world two or three hundred years ago.”
Everyone in the room was now quiet, and the giggling girls had promptly shut up.
Penelope’s cerulean eyes narrowed. “He can give you facts, figures, and embellishments written by biased men, but I can give you the truth. For instance”—she paused dramatically, the class now hanging on her every word—“I was there when Dorian the Fourth was king. I watched as his son, Tristan the Third, slew the Gorgoth with his bare hands.”
I heard a few girls in the front gasp. Erien had told me about Gorgoths, men who had been turned into giant bats, abnormally strong, with dripping fangs and razor-sharp claws. I shuddered at the thought of meeting one of those creatures, and hoped I’d never have to.
“I helped rebuild Kelliandria along with the dwarves when the great earth shook and destroyed countless lives,” she continued. “That was a very long time ago, almost two hundred summers.”
Some girls gasped again. I grinned. Penelope really was a very good teacher. And she knew how to keep the room quiet and her students interested.
“On a more recent note, I was there in the midst of the last mage war that took place on the plains of Eleth. It was a dark time for all of us. A rebellion of nearly a hundred fully trained mages, who fought against their king and had turned away from the gentle way of the mages, sought to take the kingdom for themselves.”
Everyone was silent as Professor Plumpleberry looked around the room. For a fleeting second, her gaze settled on me. Her blue eyes twinkled and she continued her story.
“I was busy healing a warrior-mage and was present when Prince Azaren, the king’s champion, Warden of the West, and the most powerful mage of our age, created a lightning strike so formidable that it burst through the approaching army, killing the traitor Joreth. With their leader gone, the traitors who called themselves the Black Mages surrendered.”
I couldn’t help myself; I felt a hot tear trickle slowly down my cheek. My father was a hero, a legend. Everything that Uncle Gabriel had said about him was true. Not that I ever really doubted it, but hearing it here, in school, as part of a history lesson, was amazing. Was he really the Warden of the West? I made a mental note to ask Penelope about that after class.
I got back to concentrating on what Professor Plumpleberry was saying. I was now quite sure which class was going to be my favorite. Everything I needed to know about my parents was here, in this classroom and in this library.
When the class finished, Penelope was busy talking to a student, and Vivienne dragged me along with her, so I decided I could talk to Penelope later.
After ancient studies, we all moved to another classroom in the same building. It was called “Social Structure and Government in the Seven Kingdoms,” but it was essentially politics. Professor Ruthbridge was old and extremely boring. He had a timid voice and shaggy, unkempt silver hair, which made him look a bit like Albert Einstein, I thought, as Vivienne and I found seats
