Manij shrugged. “As you wish. I’m walking there now, it’s only a few blocks away. You can have a quick look from the outside first, if you like. But it’s your choice.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “I will be late for class if I linger.”
Kal hesitated. A group of rough-looking young men lounged on a nearby bench. They were staring at her and elbowing each other. Their laughter had an ugly edge to it.
“I’ll walk with you,” Kal said, rising quickly to her feet. “Just to see.”
She’d slip away if it felt wrong. The streets were busy enough now that Manij couldn’t kidnap her in broad daylight. Plus, she had the pistol. Kal didn’t want to shoot anyone, but just the threat might be enough.
They walked together out of the park. Kal felt the boys’ eyes on her back. “So why did you move here?” she asked, probing for weaknesses in the woman’s story.
“My sister was murdered by her husband,” Manij said matter-of-factly. “I wanted to help women in bad situations, and a friend told me about the Lenormand School. It is their mission to offer sanctuary to any girl or woman who needs it, especially those who lack the resources to help themselves.”
“I’m sorry,” Kal said, wondering if the story was true. “How come you sound like a Rus, then?”
Manij glanced at her, amusement in her eyes. “Because I am from the south of Bactra. Northern Bactrians have a Kirithi accent.” She gave a wry smile. “Of course, people born and bred in Arjevica know immediately that I am not from here.” She lowered her voice. “They can be quite snobbish about it, too.”
They paused for a break in the morning traffic, then crossed the street.
“Anyway, the Lenormand School gives young women a second chance,” Manij continued. “Some are fleeing violence at home. Others are running from something else. Whatever it might be, rest assured that is your business.”
Kal cut her a sharp side look, but Manij’s face was bland. “We teach practical skills to help students become independent. Our graduates are given jobs in Kievad Rus—or beyond if needed.”
They turned a corner and Manij stopped walking. A high brick wall thick with ivy enclosed the next few blocks. Through wrought-iron gates, Kal saw clusters of stately brick buildings surrounded by trees and grass. No bars on the windows.
Young women strode along the pathways between the buildings, laughing and talking, books clutched to their chests. They wore identical uniforms—white shirts, gray skirts and black woolen leggings.
Kal didn’t care for the wall. But the students didn’t act like prisoners.
“I have to get to class,” Manij said. “If you’re interested, I’ll drop you off at the admissions office. They can explain more.”
Kal weighed her options. She had no money and didn’t know a single soul in Arjevica. The White Foxes would not give up hunting her so easily, especially since she’d shot one of them. If she slept on the streets, she’d be easy to find—and easy prey for rapists and thieves. This school might be the safest place until she came up with her next move. She could always run away if she didn’t like it. The wall presented no obstacle to a woman used to climbing the rugged Zamir Hills.
“All right,” she said. “Thank you.”
Manij squeezed her shoulder. “A wise decision.” She unlocked the gate, led Kal through, and locked it again behind them. They walked through the grounds to a building with a brass plaque that said Administration. Inside, Manij waved at a receptionist and took her down a hall with polished wood paneling and large windows overlooking a grassy quad. Another door at the end was marked Dean’s Office. Manij knocked once, then opened the door.
Kal’s pulse spiked. Her vision tunneled.
A witch sat behind the desk.
“I found a young woman in need of our assistance,” Manij announced, then turned to Kal with a bright smile. “Good luck,” she chirped before bustling away down the hall.
The urge to run was overwhelming as the witch’s pewter eyes took her measure. Kal reminded herself that she was immune to their magic now. This one showed no sign of recognition.
She didn’t wear white, either.
“I’m Lara Lenormand.” Her voice was cool and assertive. “What’s your name?”
Kal squeezed her shaking hands into fists. “Kyra Navarra.”
She’d picked her new name on the long lorry ride. Kyra for her grandmother. Navarra for Durian’s favorite café.
“Please, sit down.” A hand stacked with rings gestured at two matching armchairs facing the desk. Kal sat. The witch regarded her seriously. She was beautiful and pampered-looking, with shining brown hair and the flawless skin of rich people. Her clothes looked expensive too, a beige silk blouse with jeweled buttons.
“Well, Kyra,” she said, “I want you to know that no one gets into these grounds without my permission. If you decide to stay, you will be safe here. But the choice is yours. You can walk out that door right now and no one will stop you.”
Kal hesitated. She’d lost the White Foxes in the hills. They couldn’t know which way she’d gone from there. It might be anywhere. And since she had crossed the border underground, there was no record of her arrival in Arjevica.
“I know you’re scared,” the witch said in a softer tone. “But you don’t need to be. Not anymore.”
