Chapter Two

The fallout progressed over the next day.
Anabelle’s parents were called to take her home the next morning, once it was early enough to be making phone calls — officially suspended from school until further notice for disciplinary reasons, was what they said. Her mother came to pick her up the next morning in the family’s carriage. The ride home was very quiet.
Anabelle stared out the window at the countryside on the way to the family estate, leaning out onto the sill over her crossed arms — and nursing her quietly smouldering anger. How could she? she fumed, inwardly. How dare she? I trusted her!
In retrospect, she wondered why she’d trusted Filiana at all. She was clearly ugly and a bit too simpering to have ever been considered for friendship.
But the betrayal still hurt. Filiana and she had been best friends since the time they could walk. Their fathers were both advisors in the king’s court, and the two had gotten to know each other at court functions before they’d even started school together.
Dammit. If she wasn’t allowed to finish out the year because of this, she’d have to withdraw from Coronet Academy, after all her hard work. Perfect grades, excellent test scores, cleverly written essays–all for naught? If she had to withdraw her admission, there was going to be hell to pay. Oh, yes.
She’d find a way to make the school re-think its decision. There had to be a way. She was Anabelle Emitan, daughter to the King’s highest-ranked magical advisor, for crying out loud — if there wasn’t a way, then she was Princess Sheridan.
Her mother, sitting on the opposite side of the bench, behind their driver, looked over. “You know, Anabelle, I’m terribly disappointed in you. I thought I’d raised you better than that.”
Anabelle groaned and leaned back in her seat. “Mum, it wasn’t my fault — well, okay, maybe it was, but it’s not like I meant to do anything bad — if Filiana hadn’t–”
Her mother shook her head. “You still should have thought it through first. You take too much after your father.” She sighed. “You understand that you’ll have to deal with whatever consequences your actions have?”
Anabelle scowled. “I suppose. It’ll all turn out right in the end, I guess.”
“That’s my girl,” her mother said, smiling softly. “Listen, Anabelle–you know your father and I will be with you on this no matter what happens, right, darling?”
Softening, Anabelle gave her mother a little grin. “I know,” she said. “Thanks.”
They rode in silence the rest of the way home. Their modest estate was fortunately not far from the school, in the middle of the picturesque rolling countryside that Anabelle loved. She recalled, fondly, that she had once begged to stay and be homeschooled so that she could remain here. Wish I’d been a little more forceful now, she thought, bitterly. Stupid school. Wasn’t good enough for me anyway. They’ll be sorry.
Eventually Anabelle felt her eyelids begin to grow heavy, and drifted off into an untroubled sleep. She awoke again to the neighing of the carriage horses just as the sun was reaching its peak in the sky — noontime — and the carriage mounted the last hill before reaching the sprawling Emitan estate, the red-shingled rooftop just becoming visible.
“Well, we’re home,” she said, flatly, and added to herself: I wish it were under different circumstances. This homecoming didn’t bring any of the warmth that she usually felt upon returning to their comfortable homestead
I know how you feel, dear, her mother replied gently, telepathically, and then aloud: “We’ll get some lunch first. I think we can save talk of the future for another hour yet, right?”
After following her mother and the servant who’d come out to retrieve her bags inside, Anabelle headed for the stairs to the upper floor. She was about to close the door to her room when there was the noise of a slight sizzling, and then a loud pop from the downstairs. She flew back to the top of the stairs–
“Father?” she said, in surprise, at the figure that had just landed in the entryway on his rear end. She cocked her head to one side. “Not one of your best landings, if I must say.”
Her father picked himself up, dusting off his trousers neatly as he groaned. “That’s the least of our troubles, m’dear,” he said, grimly. “I’ve just been asked to leave my job.”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” said her father, hands clasped behind his back, as he paced back and forth in the sitting room a few minutes later. “We still have our savings, of course. It’ll be like early retirement. I’ll get to spend a little more time at home. It’s what we’ve always wanted, anyway.”
“Of course,” her mother parroted, blankly. She still seemed to be in a state of shock, and couldn’t manage to say more than three words at a time.
Her father sighed. “Yes, it’ll all be fine. There’ll be some changes, of course — things won’t be quite the same, but I’m sure it’ll work out…”
Anabelle had nestled herself back in her favorite chair, and half-listened to her father’s reassurances. What was it all worth if she couldn’t go to Coronet Academy? She, Anabelle Emitan, not only not go to Coronet–but what if she couldn’t get into any school? It was well past the application deadline for any of the respectable schools around the country. And even if she was Anabelle Emitan — well, without her father’s name to back her up, what could she do about it?
She stood up suddenly and stalked out of the room, causing her father to pause momentarily as he watched her leave. Shutting the double glass doors behind her, she made her way to the stairs and up to the second floor once again, seeking the solitude of her room, closing the door against the sound of her parents’ conversation.
Anabelle lay down in the center of her bed and stared up at the canopy. “Everything was going so well,” she murmured to herself, after a few moments had passed. “What happened to everything? What am I — am I going to–”
She cut off, feeling tears start to well up in her eyes. I am not going to cry, she thought to herself, adamantly. People like me do not cry. I can handle this. I can handle everything.
Abruptly, she sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and strode to the door, putting a hand on the handle. Taking a deep breath, she thought, I am strong. I am talented, clever, and intelligent. I can handle anything the world throws at me. She opened the door.
“What do you mean we’re practically bankrupt?!” her mother screeched downstairs. “We spent it all–”
Anabelle shut the door again. Maybe it wasn’t quite time to start handling everything. She sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. She needed something to do. What would she have been doing this time of day, normally?
Right. Running around with Filiana and doing schoolwork.
Well, she’d have to think of something else to do. She gave the books on her bookshelf a cursory glance, but none of them seemed attractive right then. There was always putting on one of her records, but she wasn’t really in the mood. So what–
Her eyes fell on a leather-bound book set on the small writing desk in the corner of the room. Printed on the cover was her own name, in gold leaf. She remembered where she’d gotten it — it had been a birthday present a couple years ago from her father, but she’d never bothered with keeping a diary. Looking at it now, it seemed like a good time to start.
She picked it up, and considered it as the sound of muffled shouting became audible even through her thick oaken door. Throwing one last glance towards the door, she sighed, grabbed her fountain pen, tucked the diary under one arm, and went to unlatch the window.

The garden below was mercifully quiet as Anabelle let the air-ladder she’d created to climb down fade and fall apart and floated genty to the ground, being careful not to get even the tiniest speck of dirt on her expensive leather school shoes. Anabelle picked out the path carefully, giving the creeping tendrils of ground-cover plants gentle pushes back into their designated areas with the wave of a hand. They responded to the touch of her magic, diving back into their neat patches as she passed.
Mother’s been neglecting the plants, she thought as she passed. I’ll have to mention to her that we ought to hire a gardener — oh, damn. Never mind.
She found the bench, finally — it was mostly for show, as her mother had decided one day that all gardens should have a bench or a swing, so they’d gotten one, even though it was only rarely used. It needed a bit of painting, but it was serviceable. Sitting down, she took the diary out from under her arm and opened it.
“Okay,” she said, aloud. “Dear diary. There,” she said, jotting down the line with a flourish. “Now what?”
My life is absolutely ruined, she wrote, experimentally. That was all right, she supposed, and thought about her next line. And it’s all Filiana’s fault.
Good, thought Anabelle. That’s good. All right… Hm, here we go: I can’t believe Filiana would betray me like this, but since she did, I have decided that she is going to have to pay for her misjudgement. Clearly, revenge is in order. And it’s going to have to be a really good revenge, too.
Now… what to do for revenge, of course. She leaned back, and propped her legs up on one of the arms of the bench. How to execute her revenge — that was a very good question.
“Let’s see,” she murmured, scribbling furiously on the page. “I somehow find a better school, or possibly find a way to get back into Coronet — nah, that’s not quite good enough for her, it’ll have to be something much, much worse. Possibly involving ornamental weaponry from her tackily-decorated shack falling on her head–”
She set herself to drawing elaborate diagrams of what exactly her revenge would entail. She was halfway through the plans for the machine that would drop one of the Ianthe’s heirloom battle axes on Filiana’s head at just the right moment when–
“Excuse me, miss?”
Anabelle nearly rolled off the seat in surprise, but managed to catch herself just in time, managing to retain a semblance of dignity. “Ega — don’t sneak up on me like that, you–” she said, readjusting herself properly and turning to the newcomer. “What do you want — oh, you’re the postman.”
The postal officer, a fairly young man, flushed, and hastily handed Anabelle a thick sheaf of envelopes. “S-sorry about that, miss,” he stuttered. “It won’t happen again, of course. I’ll be going now.”
“Yes, please do make sure it doesn’t, will you?” said Anabelle, exasperatedly, as he turned to leave. “Just put it in the box next time, all right, or give it to one of the servants? It’s not that hard, really–”
“Uh, of course,” he said, very quickly. “I’ll be going now. Goodbye,” he said, and fled.
Anabelle frowned at being interrupted and wondered briefly why he seemed so nervous, but then something in the stack of papers and envelopes caught her eye. It was a large envelope, printed with the legend in blue ink: Apply today to Landomel Academy!
Blinking, Anabelle studied the envelope again. It must be a mistake, she thought. All the deadlines are over.
But underneath the logo, there indeed were the words: It’s still not too late to apply. It listed the deadline underneath — and it was the next day.
“Hm,” said Anabelle, a plan beginning to form in her mind.
She looked over the pamphlets, read all the information, studied every item in the packet three times over — and the offer still seemed too good to be true. According to the letter, if she sent in the form right away, she could still be admitted.
Granted, it wasn’t a private institution, and from the chromagraphs on the pamphlet seemed rather utilitarian in architectural design, but it was something. An Emitan daughter not going to an academy of magic? Unthinkable. And if she did well enough for a year, perhaps she’d be able to transfer to Coronet after that. She’d have a few interesting tales from her time among the little people, and an air of danger. Perfect. She couldn’t wait to tell her parents. In fact — well, no time like the present, right?
Throwing open the front door, she dashed into the foyer, calling, “Mum! Dad! I’ve got the mail! And I’ve got some good news, too…”
Her mother had wandered over, looking somewhat less hysterical, and leafed through the pile of mail that Anabelle had unceremoniously dumped at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh, there’s something for me, from the University,” she said, picking up a plain, hand-addressed envelope in the middle of the pile and tearing it open. “I wonder what it could be–”
She scanned the letter once and then, looking somewhat perplexed, looked over it again, knitting her eyebrows closer and closer together as her eyes followed the text further down the page and mouthing words silently.
“We… sorry to inform you that… no longer able to…” she murmured, with increasing horror on her face. “Terminate your… what?! They — the university’s letting me go, too?!” her mother cried, voice rising steadily to a shriek, bringing her father running into the room.
Anabelle blinked, and then stepped neatly back over the threshold and shut the door before sagging back against it. Maybe not quite yet, she thought, wearily.