Free Rare Form: Descended of Dragons, Book 1 by Jen Crane Page B

dreamed of women dressed in hip pads, corsets, and full skirts. I dreamed of men with plaited hair and longswords, and in that real but apparitional way of dreams, two familiar faces appeared among the costumed crowd. A stunning brunette possessively clasped the upper arm of a powerfully built man with an unruly mane of black hair and piercing amber eyes.
    “Morning, Pia,” I mumbled, one side of my face still firmly planted in a pillow.
    “Good morning, Stella. The time now is seven-oh-one a.m. The Radix Primo Anno Orientation begins in fifty-nine minutes. You are required to attend this function that is expected to break for a one-hour lunch at noon and conclude by four p.m.”
    “Wait. Ano what? And would it be so hard to wake me with a little energizing music? Some encouragement, maybe, or at least some sort of pleasantry? This ‘The time now’ business is so…sterile. I’m a morning person; let’s start the day off right.”
    “Pleasant?” Pia asked. “Encouraging? I’m sorry, Stella. I must have missed the memo that your mother was also enrolling in The Root.”
    “Humor. Now that’s more like it, Pia.”
    I jumped in the shower and hurriedly dressed for the day. I had brought my favorite jeans—the ones I knew made my butt look good. One less thing to worry about. Timbra was nowhere to be seen, so I headed downstairs for coffee.
    “JEEN-jah! Pleasant morning? Coffee?”
    It was Knox, the frustratingly adorable bartender/barista.
    “My. Name. Is. Stella. Aren’t you chipper this morning? I’ll take a…”
    “Let me guess. Hmmm. Mocha. Nonfat. Covered with whipped cream.”
    “That’s exactly right. How did you know?” I supposed he could add mind reader to his growing list of useful talents.
    “A lucky guess. Would you settle for vanilla, though? The nonfat and whipped cream I have covered, but even this tan would never qualify as ‘mocha’.”
    This he said with an easy smile, and I laughed, despite myself.
    “Are you headed to the big orientation today, then?”
    “Yes. I’m in desperate need of a crash course. I have a lot to learn, and I already feel the disadvantage. I’ve made some friends, and their parents are alumni, as were their grandparents and great-grandparents—their connections to this place go back hundreds of years. They’ve always known they would go here; they’re prepared for it. I’m afraid I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”
    “Oh, don’t fear that, Ginger. You do stick out, I’ll tell ye now.”
    I groaned in despair, but he went on, “No, no. Think of your ignorance as a gift. You’re new, you’re fresh, you’re a blank slate. You have nothing to prove, no familial expectations, no one to impress or let down. Absorb everything like a sponge, and enjoy it. There’s a whole new world out there; dive right in.”
    The truth in his blunt assessment made me feel better, as did the encouragement. I left with a latte and a croissant in hand and a smile on my face.
    “A nonfat mocha latte has 220 calories and three grams of fat.”
    This unwelcome commentary came from my personal interactive assistant.
    “Oh, hell no, Pia. You turn that function off right now.”
    “Just trying to be helpful.”
    “So not helpful. You want to help? Where am I going for this orientation?”
    “I’m more than a map, you know,” Pia mumbled.

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    I entered Martyrskirk Theatre and scanned those seated until I spotted Timbra. She held up a hand, and I took the seat that she’d saved. I spotted Ewan and Layla and some others in the surrounding seats and smiled.
    “Good morning, and welcome to you, the 921st entering Primos Class of Radix Citadel for Supernatural Learning,” a stern, confident female voice boomed through the theater.
    “I’m Faye Edgecliffe, vice chancellor of this esteemed institution, and it is my pleasure to tell you that for nearly a millennium Radix has maintained a reputation as Thayer's leading center for magical instruction and research. The