Iron & Ice #ONC2024

Chapter XI

 I wake early the next morning, like I always do. A glance at the clock on the infirmary wall tells me that my classmates will be up and having breakfast by now. Classes start in half an hour. Classes that I've been forbidden from attending for the day.

I feel better this morning. I'm not sure if it's because I slept through the night, or if my dream has given me a new wave of energy, or if it's simply knowing that I won't have to face the Witchhunters today. For today only, I am free.

Miss McNamara doesn't appear to be here yet, and I wonder if I'll have time to make a jail break. I know she said she'd release me today, but the thought of waiting for her to come and give me the all-clear sounds like hell. I don't want to sit still, to lie in bed with nothing to do but think. I suppose I could try to slog through the coursework Octavia and Cassian brought me, but I feel like I might burst out of my skin if I have to sit still for that long.

Tentatively, I swing my legs out of bed. I feel fine, really, just... hungry, I realize, for the first time in several days. Maybe I could try to beg something from the kitchen instead of waiting for Miss McNamara to bring me something.

Yes, I like that plan. I slip my feet into my boots–I've slept in my uniform, so at least I don't have to get dressed, even though I suspect I'm looking somewhat worse for wear–and I gather up the books that Cassian and Octavia brought me, along with my jacket and anything else that I brought with me, and then I slip silently out of the infirmary.

I pad through the halls as quietly as I can. The kitchens are located directly off the Great Hall–I've been there once before to beg some snacks from the cook and the kitchen maids after a particularly long day–but you can get there by a more roundabout route past some of the classrooms. I opt for the second option, as I don't particularly want to run into anyone.

On the way, I undo my braid–my hair is sticking out in a dozen directions–and scrape my hair up into a bun, hoping I look somewhat presentable. I do my best to smooth and adjust my uniform without dropping my books. I wish I'd stopped to wash my face and use the loo before I left the infirmary, and my mouth tastes vaguely akin to a compost heap. Ah, well. Maybe the cook will give me a cup of mint tea if I ask nicely enough.

But when I walk into the kitchen, I nearly walk right back out again.

Because, there, sitting at the high table that the cook uses as a worktop, is the Witchhunter General Avienus.

Before I can walk out, though, he turns around and smiles. "Lady Daphne, isn't it?" he asks. "Are you feeling better today?"

"I, uh, I am," I stammer.

The cook, a perpetually harried, middle-aged woman that we're all both mildly afraid of and minorly in awe of, raises an eyebrow. "Can I help you, my lady?"

"I was in the infirmary," I blurt, then try to gather myself. This will not do, not in such close proximity to General Avienus. I cannot let him suspect me at all. "I missed breakfast," I amend. "I wondered if I might be able to have a plate here, please."

The cook's expression softens. "Wait here." She gestures at the spot next to the general. "I'll bring you something."

Hesitantly, I sit. I can't very well not, even though my skin crawls under General Avienus's assessing gaze. Up close, he's less intimidating, particularly since he isn't wearing his full uniform–his jacket is nowhere to be seen, leaving his arms bare. He's quite tanned, particularly for an Englishman. I suspect he's been somewhere much warmer than Britannia recently.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your breakfast," I say, although it doesn't look like he's touched the plate of food in front of him.

He holds a gold locket in his hand–an unusually feminine accessory for someone like him. I catch a glimpse of the painted miniature inside–a young girl with curly hair, a smattering of freckles and a huge smile. Her hair is the same golden-brown as his, but her complexion is darker, more olive than you typically see in Britannia.