Validus vale academy boo.., p.1
Validus Vale Academy: Book One, page 1
Validus Vale Academy
Book One
Nicky Shivers
Copyright © 2025 Nicky Shivers
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Foreword
Dedication
PROLOGUE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
EPILOGUE
Author’s Note.
TOTALLY WRECKED
Books By The Author
About The Author
Foreword
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Validus Vale Academy. This series is set in the fictional country of Havengard, which I envision as a landmass some way off the western coast of the USA.
The Validus Vale Series is a paranormal Academy Reverse Harem. This means that all the romantic heroes are matches for the heroine, and she will not have to choose between them. It’s also worth noting that romance is not the key focus of book one.
We have new worlds and new friends to meet first.
Happy reading.
Nicky xx
PS. If you’d like to chat with a community of other Validus Vale readers, I’m setting up a new reader group on Facebook. Maybe see you there!
TRIGGER WARNINGS
This book contains scenes that may be triggering for some readers. Trigger Warnings: sexual assault, bullying, death of a parent, substance abuse, classism, and graphic violence.
Dedicated to the mighty and chaotic Gnasher the Cat
for allowing this book to exist.
How you managed to knock water across the entire desk while missing my laptop by millimeters
will forever be a mystery.
PROLOGUE
Mount Olympus
“They have nothing left from the gifts we gave them?” Zeus’ voice rises in disbelief.
“I wouldn’t say ‘nothing’, exactly. Some mortals have a magical spark,” I reply. “Though it’s not exactly…”
“Impressive?” he huffs. “That’s a fucking bore. Why bother giving them actual Godly gifts in the first place if they can’t hold onto them? Ingrates.”
“Right?” I agree, bowing low. “Can you believe there hasn’t been a mortal earth-whisperer or telepath for centuries, let alone a bone-weaver or transmogrifier? All that’s left on Earth are low-powered,” I do air quotes, “witches.”
Hera strokes the arm of her lover-brother. “What does any of this matter? Just leave them be, my love.”
Zeus turns away to grab another pomegranate, and I give Hera an obsequious smile. She narrows her terrifying eyes at me. Le sigh. I’m never going to win her over.
“Ganymede?” Zeus flicks a seed in my direction.
“Yes, sire?”
“Tell me about the mortal’s magical spark. Is it as dull as it sounds?”
“Pretty much. I mean, it allows them to cast witchy spells, but only simple ones. Parlor tricks, really; they have nothing approaching a Gods-gift level of power.”
“So, it’s official,” the King of Olympus groans. “The Earth-Realm is now duller than Prometheus’ liver. Hmm, maybe I’ll see if Loki wants a vacatio; he could go down and stir things up, whatcha think? Haven’t seen him for ever.”
I want to fall to my knees screaming, ‘For the love of all things Olympian, do not invite Loki back into the mix,’ but instead, I keep a stoic expression on my face. “Eh,” I shrug, super casually, “Loki might be a little heavy-handed. Could I suggest we do some more ‘watch and wait’? A few anomalies are going on between the Human Realm and Avalon at the moment that might turn into something interesting.”
“Really?” Zeus perks up. “Are Amirene and Obex fucking up?”
“Er, fucking up is one way to put it, both the Guardians of Avalon seem a little unstable. I heard that a portion of the Divine Essence is missing, and that’s messing up the balance.”
Zeus rubs his hands together. “Worth a wager?”
I nod, because in truth, I do think shit is going to go down. “You’ll probably get great odds on some kind of realm-ending catastrophe. Want me to send Hermes a message?”
“Do it,” Zeus declares.
“But tell him to leave those Gods-awful Pan Pipes at home,” Hera drawls. “I’ll go mad if I have to hear him play Stairway to Hades one more time.”
“So what are we going to do in the meantime?” Zeus asks, waving his mug around and sloshing ambrosia everywhere. “I’m still bored.” After a beat, he lets out a loud belch, then fixes his gaze on me. “Wait, I’ve got it! We’ll spend some time looking at another very special planet.”
“Great idea, sire. Which one are you interested in?”
“Glad you asked; I’m going to examine Uranus, Ganymede. Uranus—get it? Ha-ha, I’m hilarious.”
I bow, scraping my forehead against the marble floor tile. “Indeed, you are, sire. Indeed, you are.”
Fucking Gods.
1
United Kingdom
“Theo, it’s September 9th; I don’t want you to think I’m pushing, but can we discuss your move out?”
My aunt stands, hands on hips, frowning at the mess in my bedroom.
I paste on a smile and give her a reply in the perkiest of tones. “Yep, how about after work, Nancy? But don’t worry, plans are in the works.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire. Plans are not in the works. Not even the rough sketch of a plan.
October 1st has been circled in red, on Aunt Nancy’s Celtic Quilts kitchen calendar since January. I’ve had nine months. Nine whole months to find somewhere to live that isn’t Aunt Nancy’s spare bedroom.
“OK, great. Let me know if you need any help with packing, sweetheart,” she calls, her voice lifting slightly as she heads down the stairs.
“Will do,” I reply, gritting my teeth. I can’t blame Aunt Nancy for wanting me out. It’s been a decade since I was dropped, literally, on her lap. Who wants to be lumbered with someone else's kid?
Not Nancy. I know that for a fact.
I have fuzzy memories of being at the hospital, and a social worker taking me by the hand, away from my dead parents, and depositing me in the waiting room with a tired-looking woman I’d never met before—my aunt.
“Give her a cuddle,” the social worker barked, and Nancy reluctantly pulled me onto her knee. “Looks like you’re coming home with me, Theo,” she sighed.
—Just great—Goodbye retirement—
The years with Nancy have been fine. I’ve no real complaints, but they haven't exactly been filled with love and hugs. It was the timing. Nancy’s own kids—my older cousins—had just flown the coop, so she’d sold the family home and moved to this smaller, “easier-to-manage” house just before the accident.
I’d done my best not to be another thing for her to have to manage, but I was a weird kid whose whole world had imploded, so…
*shrug emoji*
Now it’s time to find a new place to call home. If I don’t, I’ll be living up to the Failed-Theo name once again. Aunt Nancy won’t be surprised—and truthfully, I don’t think she’ll kick me out onto the street, come October—but I’d love to get my shit together and actually surprise her for once.
“Theodora!” Her voice booms up the stairs, snapping me out of my thoughts.
Yikes, I need to get moving. I’m already running late, and my boss, Oliver, is on his last nerve with me.
I shove the fat squares of quilting materials aside and finally unearth some clean underwear. Hallelujah. My shoebox of a room is overflowing; half my crap, half Nancy’s fabric stash. Her quilting obsession takes up a significant chunk of my already minuscule space, which makes me feel a smidge less guilty about ‘ruining her retirement.’
Now dressed in a pair of purple jean shorts and an orange bralet (three for ten at Tesco), I flip over a heap of plaid quarters until I find a clean SubArmy tee. “All veggies, none of the meat, our flaming hot sarnies are bringing the heat” is emblazoned on the back.
Ugh. Heat. It’s the middle of September, and our usually feeble British summer is in a weird overdrive this month. The whole country is wilting. Pale people like me are suffering, along with dogs in cars, old people, and soup vendors. Pulling on the tee, I slather myself in sunscreen and calculate today's potential tips. Fridays are usually decent; the tantalizing p
Yeah, but even good tips won’t cut it. I’ve been working every possible hour at the sub shop, and I still don’t have enough to cover first and last month’s rent, plus deposit. Unless some eccentric millionaire who loves the most average of sandwiches is on my route today, it’ll take a miracle to get my own place anytime soon.
Unless—there’s always the sofa.
At Veronica’s.
Veronica’s offer is very much a last resort. Veronica, Mike, and baby Liam live in a two-bed apartment, and my friend keeps offering the living room couch for a token rent. “You can pay me back by babysitting,” she’ll say with a gleam in her eye. “Be my live-in nanny.”
I shudder at the thought. I mean, I guess I do love Veronica’s son, but if I’m honest, he’s a little shit. Living with a three-year-old sociopath-in-training isn’t, um, shall we say, appealing? And then there’s her boyfriend Mike; he doesn’t seem keen on having me as a new roomie. Can’t say I blame him—lots of people feel awkward around me.
“Mike can overlook it, hun, just like I do. It’s not your fault you're a, what’s the word? Animally?”
“Anomaly, Vee. Anomaly.”
“Yeah, potato, potarto. I’m just saying I love you anyways. Even though you’re animally.”
Being animally, whatever that is, is probably way cooler than being an anomaly, which is what I am—anyway, staying at Vee and Mike’s?
Negative, Ghost Rider.
Feeling a little overwhelmed with everything, I pull my hair off my face, yanking it taut and giving my scalp a delicious stretch. This calms the brain-chaos for a moment. I haven’t heard back from the live-in housekeeper job yet. Maybe I’ll get that.
Ha! Right. Pretend you don’t know the odds of getting hired are about the same as a snowball surviving this heatwave.
It’s a plain and Gods’ honest fact that the majority of the world has a problem with Anomalous Unawakened Adults (AUAs) like me, which sucks.
Finding a scrunchie on the floor, I tie my hair back into a low ponytail, grab my phone, and scurry down the stairs two treads at a time.
“Double-shift again, sweetheart?” Nancy’s voice calls. “Well done, you.” Nancy always praises me for holding down my minimum-wage job. She doesn’t think I’m capable of much else. Especially after I’d blown the (Nancy quote hands) One Big Chance You’ll Ever Get, (end Nancy quote hands).
“Yep, double shift. See you later.”
As I head down the hallway, the framed photos of my cousins stare down from the green-striped wallpaper. The one of Neil graduating from the prestigious Edinburgh Academy of Magic always seems to be super-judgey. Then there’s the portrait of Nicola and her fiancé. Nicola’s betrothed is one of the Manchester Elites, which is a big deal. It’s one of the reasons Aunt Nancy needs me out asap so she can start planning the wedding without my presence lowering the tone. She hasn’t said that out loud, but I 100% know it’s in her head. I bring shame to her manageable house.
Nancy may have mentioned (once or twice) that it was a pity neither of her children had been given the same ‘incredible’ and ‘unwarranted’ opportunity as me. There’s no way Nicola or Neil would have bombed.
She’s not wrong; I’m quite sure they’d have aced the six-week program I’d been on.
Every year, a handful of lucky high school witches were sent to a fully-funded intensive at a magic academy. Last year’s WMO lottery winner had been little ol’ me.
Aunt Nancy was disappointed my experience had all been a waste of time, but not surprised, oh no, not surprised at all. If anyone was ever going to be an AUA, it was me.
“She’s a sweet girl,” I’d overheard her say to a friend. “But not terribly bright, and certainly not talented.”
“Such a shame the girl got nothing out of it,” her friend replied, patting Nancy’s arm in commiseration. “Going all the way to Havengard and everything.”
The flight to the United States of Havengard had taken sixteen hours. Not surprising, given that the country is almost on the other side of the globe. It’s the only place on the planet entirely governed by the Magical Elite. The rest of the world splits governance between humans and witches.
However, it’s not entirely true that I got nothing out of the intensive; but Nancy doesn’t know about my extracurricular activities. Still, as for awakening? I’d gotten a big fat F. The magic classes hadn’t engendered even the merest flicker of my internal spark. And without your magic spark igniting, the witchcraft of Arcane Magic was impossible—no spells for Theo.
So, it was back to England with no placement at the local state academy for me—just a job alongside humans, making and delivering sandwiches.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Theo. You have a roof over your head (well, for the next fourteen days), and you have steady employment. Lots of people have it worse.
Internal-Theo gives me the talking-to I need. I can’t sink into the trap of self-pity. I’ve gone there before, and it’s not a good look. The trouble is, a lot of my life has been hard. It’s almost like I’m cursed or something. If anything can go wrong for Theo, then it will.
Case in point, when I get outside, gross humidity instantly soaks my shirt, and I’ve got a flat. With a sigh, I unchain my bike from the iron railings and grab the patch kit from the saddle bag. Old Mrs. Turnbull at number 3 waves and calls out, “It’s gonna be another scorcher, Theo.”
“I think you’re right, Mrs. T,” I reply, giving her a one-handed wave as I use the quick-release to free the back wheel. I’m really going to be late now.
“Bike giving you troubles?” Mr. Turnbull shouts, joining his wife on the stoop.
—Probably should offer to help, but it’s too hot—
And here we go—shields up, Mr. Sulu.
TROUBLES = Tube, route, blot, belt, ooh rouble! Roubles is even better—seven letters.
I’ve been trying to dampen the voices for as long as I can remember. Distracting my brain helps. My current tactic is playing mental games of Boggle to divert myself. It works to press voices down into a vague white noise—most of the time. The ever-present buzz of other people’s thoughts is like having a dozen browsers open, each playing a different video at the same time. Exhausting.
There are always. So. Many. Voices.
It’s a wonder I’m not completely barking.
As soon as my parents figured out why I was such a weirdo-of-a-toddler, they immediately moved us out of the city and into a remote hillside village in Wales. I was five or six before I understood what they were telling me. I was telepathic. It was the only thing that explained my being able to hear other people's thoughts.
Mum and Dad were terrified that the World Magic Organization would find out about my weird ability and take me away. “People who go to the WMO labs never return,” Mom had whispered. “Keep away from the authorities.”
“OK,” I nodded, not really sure what I was agreeing to.
Dad had clutched my hand. “And promise us you’ll try to stop hearing the voices, it’s so important, Theo. Keep a low profile, never tell anyone.”
Not the words a kid really wants to hear every night before bedtime.
Their fear was based on the fact that telepathy was an innate magic. And innate magic had been extinct for millennia. Shit, it really didn’t make any sense. Literally any witch in the whole world would be more likely to have innate magic than me.
My current theory is that I have a genetic quirk, some throwback gene that shouldn’t exist.
But even so, I’ll never tell a soul. The fear of being a lab rat for WMO scientists haunts me down to my bones. Shudder.
—She’s an odd duck, that Theo. Not quite right in the head—
I don’t need to hear Mrs. Turnbull's inner opinion of me right now, so start thinking of all the words I can make from SHUDDER: Udder, red, reds, due, dues, hue, hues, rush, rude, dud, duds…. Ah, great, the rubber glue has set.
After putting my bike back together, I give the Turnbulls one more wave and head off.
Six hours later, my bike—now with the sandwich cool-box attached—and I are leaning against a wall. I’ve found a shady spot to catch a breath and quickly munch down the tofu-delight special. The tip of my nose is burning, and so are my thighs; good thing there aren’t any hills in this town.
