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company. He had been sitting next to the strange pig-boy, Prince Forbes, and it made her uncomfortable for reasons she didn’t understand. What were they saying? Did Remington know what had happened in the Infirmary? Why did it bother her if he did?
    Now the cadets flowed beneath the spiked teeth of the castle’s portcullis and into an immense rotunda. Torches in iron sconces ringed the walls, interspersed with faded oil portraits of great princesses and knights of the past. Twin staircases of polished stone swept up to the castle’s higher floors; beneath them, a series of archways led to the Royal Hall. On the domed ceiling above, an elaborate mural depicted women in tattered dresses amid the ruins of ancient places. Near the dark edges of the mural, formless shadows huddled, yellow eyes burning out from the gloom. A chill ran through her. She had seen eyes like those before, but what were they doing in Pennyroyal Castle?
    â€œThey’ve moved on Tarburn’s Keep, did you know that?” said Demetra. “My sister’s already been deployed.”
    She and Maggie and Anisette had been talking nonstop ever since Evie found them in the Dining Hall after her treatment. Maggie had held her a place on the bench, and even dished her a plate of food, but she still hadn’t managed to find a way into their conversation. They mostly spoke of places and things she knew nothing about.
    â€œTarburn’s Keep? Bloody hell, that’s right across the bay!” said Anisette.
    â€œWe haven’t had any in Sevigny yet, Fates be praised,” added Maggie.
    Evie was still trying to puzzle out why anyone would want to paint witches’ eyes on the ceiling when she heard someone making a snorting sound behind her. Malora smirked as she and her friends passed by. Kelbra laughed, and Evie’s face went red. She followed the crowd through the archways at the far side of the rotunda, yet still somehow felt completely alone.
    There, House Princesses directed the cadets to their assigned benches. The Royal Hall was an enormous rectangle of flint walls and stone dressings. Two immense hearths provided both light and heat. Giant purple banners bearing the Pennyroyal coat of arms rolled from the ceiling beneath sprouted pillars. In the front of the hall stood a raised dais lined with thrones. Behind the dais, a massive painting depicted war-weary princesses mounting the stairs to a ruined castle.
    â€œWhy do all the princesses look so . . .
ragged
?” said Evie with a frown as she sat on the wooden bench. But Maggie didn’t hear the question. She was deep in conversation with Basil, the boy from the coach, who wore a tunic of Ironbone blue, but with white linen breeches instead of a dress.
    The staff entered and sat in the thrones. Evie recognized several of them from earlier in the day, including Rumpledshirtsleeves, who was flanked by two of his miniature assistants. The center throne, the largest and most opulent, remained empty. A footman blasted a fanfare on a bannered trumpet, and there was a great swoosh of fabric as everyone in the hall rose as one.
    Evie struggled to see past the girl in front of her, a lanky cadet in the scarlet red of Goosegirl Company. She managed to find a small opening at the girl’s shoulder and saw Princess Beatrice sweeping across the dais in a billowing golden gown, a dramatic headpiece flaring from her white hair like the splash at the bottom of a waterfall. Her expression was severe, almost haunted.
    Everyone sat, including the staff, leaving Beatrice the only one standing. The silence was remarkable. Even the fires seemed to hiss and pop just a bit more softly. She ran her eyes slowly over her cadets, and with one simple turn of the head, unnerved an entire chamber.
    â€œWe are at war.”
    Beatrice delivered the words with such finality that no one dared move, not a breath could be heard. Evie suddenly felt so claustrophobic that she had to