Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(27)

I did, however, appreciate the maid’s choice of dress. It was one of my favorites, comfortable muslin with a closed collar and pointed sleeves. I also donned the matching gloves. Mrs. Winter may have wanted me to flaunt my dragonfly, but I didn’t want to separate myself from the other students any more than necessary on my first day. It frightened me, how much I liked wearing the DuPont gowns. I was used to simple clothes, rough fabrics, but in the gowns, I felt like Cassandra Reed. I was almost a lady. And while the prospect of growing up, and all the strange new body parts involved, was still somewhat terrifying, I didn’t look like the skinny, undersized girl who hid behind her family. I was my own person.

I was sure the thrill of new gowns would wear off if I ever needed a corset, too.

A Snipe girl named Leah arrived as I struggled my way into my gown. She helped me style my hair into a lovely, complicated chignon.

Walking down the shadowed, black-and-white tiled halls didn’t help my nerves. The other girls seemed to have divided themselves into pods, four girls emerged from each suite and joined arms, strolling in pairs down the steps in their matching green dresses. Their shoulders were straight, their heads high. Their skirts practically swished in unison. It was unnerving.

Breakfast was less opulent than my morning trays at Raven’s Rest, but the kitchens certainly provided the students with a hearty start to the day. Snipe girls in plain grey dresses carried in heaping platters of pastries, bacon, and eggs to each of the tables, where the students placidly took their fill and ignored their servants entirely. I forced myself to take toast and fruit and offer a smile in return to the sweet-faced blond girl who served me. She practically recoiled in shock and bobbled her tray. The other girls stared at me as if I’d just made a considerable faux pas.

I’d faux pas’d before breakfast. This was not going to be a good day.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” a husky voice asked. I looked up to see a tall girl with beautiful teak-colored skin and large doe eyes. Her tightly curled black hair was wound into a high, loose bun that accentuated her high cheekbones. But her clothes did nothing to highlight what looked to be a lovely figure. Her dress, while the usual Castwell green, was cut loose at the bust and hips, making her look a bit like a deflated soufflé. It was trimmed at the wrists and neck with lace in a combination of tan and burnt prune. I recognized the combination of colors as a trademark of the Cowell family, a division of House Drummond that prided itself on the construction of security wards. The Cowells were rolling in money, from what Mrs. Winter told me, why would they insist on dressing their daughter like this?

“Of course,” I said, waving toward the opposite seat. “Please.”

“Normally, no one sits here, so it’s safe,” the girl murmured as she dropped into her seat. She sounded resentful somehow, without being so rude as to tell me that she didn’t want to break her fast with me.

“Did I steal your table?” I asked, cringing slightly. “Did I take your friends’ seats?”

“No, anyone is welcome to sit here,” she told me. “But no one else ever does.”

“I’m happy to be the first. I’m Cassandra Reed,” I said, wrapping my lips around the strange new name.

“Oh, I know. Everybody knows who you are. The Translator. It’s all the other girls can talk about. Not that they talk to me about you, of course, but after you, er, departed the library, I overheard – well, never mind what I overheard. Many of them tried their hands at Translating the book, and it didn’t even open for them. A new girl coming in and Translating before she was even enrolled, that was bound to bruise their pride. I wouldn’t pay them any attention.” She blanched, realizing, I supposed, that she had said too much. “Let me start over. I’m Ivy. I’m Ivy Cowell.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ivy. And I’m not so sure about the Translating business. I didn’t have any idea what I was doing. I just touched the book.” I glanced down at my hands.

“I think that’s what’s making them so angry,” Ivy said, suppressing a throaty chuckle. “You weren’t even trying.”

“No, clearly, I am trying to make enemies on my first day,” I said, taking a rather aggressive bite of toast. “I am succeeding. Beautifully.”

Ivy snickered. “You’re being sponsored by the Winter family. You had enemies before you even got here.”

“You might have laughed less as you said that,” I told her. “It would communicate less enjoyment at my expense.”

Ivy blushed and ducked her head over her oatmeal, but she was still laughing, so I didn’t think I’d offended her.

An older slim girl with thick, cornsilk-colored hair and wide, blue eyes approached our table, looking down her nose at me. Her dress was exquisitely tailored with an elaborate brass hammer collar brooch denoting her as a Cavill. The Cavills concentrated their interests on metallurgy and alchemy. They were heavily regulated by the Guild as the government fretted over the House flooding the market with fool’s gold, causing the economy to collapse. From what I’d read, the Cavills were bitter rivals of the Brandywines and the Mountforts, the Mother House to the Winters.

Flanked by two girls who had clearly tried to imitate her elaborately coiled hairstyle, the blond didn’t bother sparing a glance toward Ivy. She dropped an envelope on my plate and did an imitation of a curtsy.