Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 7

History and Law.

The hall outside Arcane Theory buzzed with bodies, the press of uniforms and magic sparking in the air as students streamed to their following classes. I

clutched my map, muttering under my breath as the golden line shifted and pointed down another corridor. Magical History & Law – Lecture Hall C. The

room wasn’t as large as Vey’s, but it was still packed. Rows of desks curved in a half–moon toward a raised platform, and shelves lined the back wall, stacked

with tomes so thick they looked like they’d break your nose if one fell on you. And, of course, the first face I saw as I stepped inside was him. Pierce. He was already sprawled in a seat halfway back, boots kicked out like he owned the row. His auburn–flecked eyes caught mine instantly, and that smirk slid across his face like it had been waiting for me all day.

“Oh no,” I muttered under my breath.

The only open seat in sight? Right beside him. I stomped up the aisle, ignoring the curious looks flicked my way, and dropped into the chair, letting my bag thump loudly against the floor. Pierce leaned in just enough for his voice to brush my ear.

“Didn’t think you’d follow me to class,” he drawled. “Careful, Rivers. People will start to talk.”

I gritted my teeth, pulled out my parchment, and stared fixedly at the front. “Trust me, you’re the last person I’d follow anywhere.”

He chuckled, low and amused, clearly enjoying himself far too much. Before I could come up with something sharper, the professor swept in. He was an older man, his dark hair streaked with silver, sharp features half–hidden behind a pair of round spectacles perched low on his nose. His robes were deep navy, embroidered with golden scales, and when he cleared his throat, the air shifted, heavy with authority.

“I am Professor Dorian Kade,” he said, his voice a smooth baritone that filled the hall. “And this is Magical History & Law. The framework upon which our world stands and, when necessary, falls.”

A hush swept over the class.

“History tells us what has been tried, what has failed, and what must never be repeated,” Kade continued, pacing across the platform with deliberate steps. “The law, meanwhile, exists to keep us from tearing this world apart. You will learn both, in equal measure.”

I leaned back in my chair, twirling my pen between my fingers. History and laws. My two least favourite things already.

Pierce leaned in again, voice low and smug. “Bet you’ve broken half of them.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Professor Kade’s voice droned on in the background, something about “the establishment of the Council and the necessity of registration.” I tuned it out the second he said the word necessity. I knew the laws better than anyone sitting here; I’d been running from them my whole damn life. Beside me, Pierce wasn’t paying attention either. His chair was tipped back just enough to look lazy, his pen tapping an idle rhythm against his parchment. His auburn–flecked eyes slid toward me.

“So,” he said, low enough that the professor’s booming lecture covered it, “where’d you come from?”

I ignored him, staring at the map I didn’t need right now.

“I heard they had to drag you through the front gates,” he pressed. There was a grin in his voice, like he’d been dying to ask.

My jaw clenched.

“What’s it like out there?” he asked, softer this time, leaning closer. “How’d you do it? Escape them this long?”

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History and Law.

I snapped my gaze to him, glare sharp enough to cut. “Why do you care?”

His smirk widened. “Because you’re the most interesting thing in this room, Rivers. And I don’t do well with boring.”

I turned back to my parchment, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

But he didn’t let up.

“How come no one wants to sit next to you, huh?” I muttered, just to shut him up, my tone biting.

He laughed, loud enough to earn a warning glance from the professor. “Because my beast has a little bit of a temper issue.” He leaned back in his chair, looking way too pleased with himself. “First year I was here, some kid wouldn’t stop poking at me in class. I lost it. Burnt every single hair off his head.”

I blinked, then arched a brow. “Seriously?”

Pierce’s grin sharpened, all teeth. “Bald as an egg. Took months to grow back. People got the hint.”

A snort escaped me before I could stop it. Quickly, I covered it with a cough, ducking my head so my hair fell forward.

His grin turned smug. “Knew I’d get something out of you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I shot back.

But he was still smiling when I looked away, and for some reason, that smile made my chest feel tight.

“Ms. Rivers.”

The sound of my name echoed like a slap. My head jerked up. Every eye in the hall swung my way, Pierce’s included. He looked positively delighted.

“You seem,” Kade said, adjusting his spectacles, “disinterested in today’s lecture. Perhaps you would care to demonstrate your knowledge for the rest of us.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “Recite for the class the five most important laws upheld by the Council.”

Murmurs rippled through the rows. Someone snickered.

I could have played dumb. Pretended I didn’t know. But seventeen years of running had carved the laws into my bones; I knew them better than anyone

here.

I straightened in my chair, lifted my chin, and let the words spill out, sharp and sure.

“One: All magicals must be registered with the Council.”

The room quieted.

“Two: All magicals must attend approved schooling until their placement is assigned.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Kade’s face.

“Three: Magicals are forbidden from mingling with humans outside approved boundaries.”

Pierce’s brows rose, a slow grin spreading.

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