Free Pennyroyal Academy by M.A. Larson

forehead, though her skin felt cold and clammy to the touch.
    â€œSome ask why, with the superior weaponry, training, and numbers of a king’s army, those forces can’t simply ride forth and rid the world of witches. There are countless fields of stone soldiers out there ready to provide the answer. We, ladies,
we princesses alone,
possess the weapons required for this fight.” A log dissolved in a hiss of ash. “This fight is bigger than you. It is bigger than me. It is bigger than any princess or knight who has ever graced these hallowed halls. This fight is about them.” She jutted her finger so emphatically that it encompassed every man, woman, and child in the world living in fear. “This fight is about all the innocent people across the land who will suffer without a Princess of the Shield to protect them.”
    Her voice reverberated into silence. She walked back to her empty throne, but didn’t sit just yet.
    â€œThese are consequential times, ladies. And your war draws ever nearer.”
    And with that, she took her seat. She looked exhausted, like she had aged ten years during her speech. Soft whispers began to work their way through the third-class cadets.
    A hand touched Evie’s back, rubbing small circles between her shoulders. “All right, Evie? You look a bit pale.”
    â€œI didn’t know we were meant to fight witches, Maggie,” she said, her hands trembling.
    â€œWhat?” Maggie’s forehead creased in confusion. “But what did you think a princess—”
    â€œQuiet, the lot of you!” sneered Liverwort. Silence returned to the hall. Beatrice gave her a slight nod, and she disappeared through the archway at the end of the dais. Evie put her head in her hands and tried to focus on Maggie’s rhythmic strokes.
    A moment later, Liverwort reappeared to a chorus of horrified gasps. Evie glanced up and found her helping a huddled figure in a tattered cloak onto the dais. Gossamer-thin skin slacked from the sharp bones of her face. Her lips stretched tight over a chilling grin, and time had fused shut her eyes. The fires, roaring only moments before, died to glowing ash. One of Rumpledshirtsleeves’s assistants sprang to relight them as the ancient witch hobbled to the center of the dais on a cane of weathered bone.
    The black stench of smoke, the pinpricks of gooseflesh . . . Evie was right back in that cottage in the woods. She was trapped. And she was certain she was about to die.
    â€œGirls, please,” said Beatrice with annoyance. “There is nothing to fear from this witch. She is a dissident, a friend of the Academy. A friend to our cause.” The horrified voices muted back to silence, though an electric tension remained. “The intuitive powers of a witch can be quite useful when her motives are pure. She is here to do a reading, nothing more. This allows us to tailor our training and better prepare for the year. The only thing you must do is sit quietly and show a bit of respect.”
    The blind witch mouthed a silent incantation. She lifted her cane and ran it slowly from one corner of the hall to the other. Evie flinched when it pointed at her.
    â€œI see . . .” croaked the witch, the skin near the edges of her mouth flapping loosely. “The Queen has done quite well for herself . . .”
    CRACK!
Her cane slammed to the floor. The cadets—and some instructors—jumped.
    â€œShe is here! The Warrior Princess is here!”
    â€œ
What?
” hissed Beatrice as she sprang to her feet. “Are you quite sure?”
    Around her, the dais erupted with activity. Several princesses dashed from the hall. Others scanned the cadets with great urgency. Tears welled in Hazelbranch’s eyes, though her expression contained more hope than fear. Rumpledshirtsleeves slumped back, his assistants fanning him.
    â€œIndeed. She sits among them!”
    â€œWhat’s she