Alice learns many things in her five years at Highborne Academy. She learns how to balance accounts and write a letter, how to barricade her door at night and move without people noticing. She learns sums and history, how to take pain without showing it, and the true meaning of silence. She learns to ignore the whispers in the dark, which windows to avoid in the corridors, and not to look at the gargoyles. She learns which punishments will come from which teachers, and which of those she can bear more than others.
She doesn’t mind the cage, or the spikes or lashings, because they have to provide healing so she’s not visibly scarred. It’s the others, the corset that tightens if you make a mistake or let your mind wander; the cellar with its pitch-black sliminess, unidentifiable sounds, invisible pinches and slaps; the collar that silences, always cinched just enough to make breathing labored.
The thing Alice has learned the most, though, is that the Hatchums hate the Creelhands. She learns it over and over and over, though never the reason. Headmaster never tells her the reason, too busy delighting in having a Creelhand under his power. Alice receives punishment enough for three students, and she bears it. She’s written to Mother, over and over, asking, begging, pleading to be taken away, brought home. There has never been an answer.
Her fifteenth birthday approaches, and a month before, something changes. The whispers she’s learned to ignore through the night grow louder, more insistent. And they’re no longer indistinguishable muttering, no, she can hear words. Two words, again and again. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.
Alice knows the “him” is the headmaster. The certainty is pounded into her blood with each whisper, each night she is made to visit his room, to sleep in his bed instead of her own. The whispers follow her there, drowning out his vile snoring with their insidious insistence. But she can’t, couldn’t take someone’s life, even someone so horrible. She says so to the whispers, but if they can hear her they don’t seem to care.
Mother visits on Alice’s fifteenth birthday to inform her of her betrothal to a man twice her age. The Baron of Thread is in want of a wife, and the Creelhands are in want of his money and connections. They showed him her portrait and a deal was struck. Alice is worth fifty thousand gold pieces, three years’ discounted rates on thread, and the promise of an introduction to the Baron’s business network.
A summons from the headmaster follows Mother’s departure, turning Alice’s blood to ice. “Your mother is displeased with my institution.” The headmaster’s breath is rank on her hair. “It seems you still need a lesson in keeping your thoughts to yourself. This will come off the night before you’re to leave.”
It’s the collar again. She hates the collar. Little girls are meant to be seen and not heard, but sometimes it is difficult to remember. Headmaster locks it in place and pets her hair. Alice long ago learned to repress her shudders, but one nearly manages to escape as Headmaster once more leads her toward his personal chambers.
Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. The whispers sound soft tonight, gentle and sympathetic. A traitorous tear makes its escape, nestling into the hair at her temple as she stares at the ceiling. It’s beautiful, rich blue inlaid with pearl and diamond constellations. Alice knows them all, knows the number of diamonds in each one. They’re the closest thing she has to friends in this building. She talks to them, sometimes, when she’s here without the collar. Another tear escapes and she wipes it away angrily before it can join the other. She hasn’t cried in years, one of the first lessons learned in this building. Crying leads to much worse punishment.
Headmaster is on his back to her left, snoring his vile, grunting snore. Tonight, in the small ribbon of time between him finishing with her and dropping into a contented sleep, he changed everything with two sentences. “You’re not leaving here, girly. I’ll kill you before I see your cursed parents profit off you.” Alice silently pleads with the diamond and pearl constellations, asking for help, for guidance or a way out. They say nothing, but the whispers continue their unwavering advice.
A third tear is wiped away with purpose. Quietly, carefully, Alice rises to a crouch on the bed. She selects a pillow with care, prepares herself, then applies it and her body weight to Headmaster’s face. He wakes with a start after several seconds, and starts to thrash, arms coming up wildly in an effort to dislodge her. But Alice stays in place, feels as though she’s grown roots. The whispers crescendo, overlapping each other in excitement and filling her head with a dissonant buzzing. Finally, finally, Headmaster grows still. Alice waits a few minutes more, then carefully gets up. She closes his eyes, tucks him in, and slips out the door. Her head is still buzzing, words no longer recognizable in the sound.
When she wakes in the morning, Alice feels truly rested for the first time in five years. She dresses, tries to adjust the collar, and heads to breakfast. She hopes the headmaster doesn’t summon her tonight, but he didn’t keep her after placing the collar, so she’s expecting it.
It happens in the first class. A servant slips in with an apologetic bow to Ms. Anthea and whispers something to her. Ms. Anthea’s face goes through several emotions before settling back into her usual stern frown as she dismisses the servant. “You’re all to go back to your rooms and stay there. Our dear Headmaster has sadly passed away. Use this time to mourn.”