The Ruens of Fairstone (Aeon of Light Book 2) Read Free Page A

blackboard. He rubs his tired eyes and turns back toward the window and peers through the cloudy glass, a thin film of condensation lies on the surface. Snow lightly falls in the dark. The courtyard is illuminated by several lit lanterns hanging from the copper posts. Some of the boys laugh and prance while others have a girl on their arm. Must be the local girls from Greysin , lucky bastards. The big dance is coming up and I still don’t have a date. He peeks back at Miles, head is now buried deep in the crook of his arm, he breathes heavy, every third or fourth breath the upper half of his body twitches like a sleeping dog, then he smacks his lips for a second then goes silent. Bet he has a date, and Pard sneers, sighs, and scans his book of odd letters and symbols. The rough worn leather of the book scratches his palm as he cups the spine and transcribes the title: The Third Order Of The Rue .
    Ding —  
    A large grandfather clock standing between two windows announces it’s eight at night, and Pard lifts his head out of his book. He wiggles his sweaty fingers in anticipation, staring at Professor Ames, hoping the clock announced the end of his detention.
    Miles flinches and jerks up right, sucking in drool. He slowly turns toward Pard, his eyes red and puffy, he smiles.
    Pard glances at Miles, raises his eyebrows, and forces a smile back. Wonder if I slept through the entire detention if Professor Ames would leave me alone or make me stand? He twists his lips, definitely stand .
    Miles winks at him then yawns and stretches his arms high above his head.
    Pard’s stomach gurgles as he shifts in his seat. He looks back to the Professor. His body drifts forward, eagerly awaiting any sign of his release.
    Professor Ames coughs, and Pard’s eyes widen in anticipation. The professor flips a paper and continues grading.
    Pard’s shoulders slump, and he lowers his gaze back to his book. Guess I’m not getting any dinner tonight . The kitchens closed at eight anyway.
    A few minutes later, Professor Ames taps his pen on the desk. “I hope my point has sunk in. You are released.”  
    Pard smiles and snaps his book shut then stacks the rest of them into a neat pile.
    Miles slides out of his chair like a snake and slings his backpack in one motion. “Later, professor.”
    “Lord Marlow,” Professor Ames says in a monotone voice, “I expect punctuality and no food in my lecture hall going forward.”
    Miles ignores the professor and nods at Pard. “Head on a swivel, Wenerly.”
    Pard rolls his eyes and presses out of his chair.
    Professor Ames lowers his gaze and goes back to grading the essays. “Not you, Mr. Wenerly.”
    You’ve got to be kidding me. Pard sighs and plops back down in his chair. He glances out the window again, lost in his thoughts. I’ve got to be the unluckiest person ever, this sucks, dang I’m hungry. Then Pard’s eyes fix on a marble statue of a stern man with angular features with his hand held out as he lectures to the courtyard, then Pard realizes how lucky he is, to be at this school, one of the finest in all of Vetlinue.  
    Miles passes by the window and salutes Pard. Several of the other popular boys meet him and slap him on his back.  
    I’m sure he’ll find away to get dinner tonight . The kitchens would reopen for Lord Marlow at any hour . Pard sighs again and removes the top book off his stack. His stomach growls again as he wiggles in his chair from the discomfort.
    “Mr. Wenerly,” Professor Ames says.
    Pard’s head snaps up and looks at the teacher, not expecting to hear his name so soon. “Yes, professor?”
    “Come here.”
    Pard pops out of his chair, hugs his books, and hurries to the front of the lecture hall.
    The professor ignores Pard for a few seconds, still passing his finger over an essay. He shakes his head and scribbles, to wordy, be more concise, and the Battle of Als was five hundred years after the Nestvine movement, C- . He slides off his spectacles and