Chapter 6 What’s a Life Without the Consequences?
What’s a Life Without
the Consequences?
I
t’s almost a relief, returning to the academy and letting other people’s chaos drown out my own. The moment I step on campus, it all crashes into me: their stress, their love, their woes. Adrenaline writhes against my muscles, pushing through my skin itself. I itch to move, run, do anything.
But I’m exhausted.
I collapse into bed, the weight of the day dragging me under.
The sleep is hardly restful.
When I wake, I search for Lucian, finding him in the combat room. He fights with Yuki, but when his eyes meet mine, they’re smug. Every drop of him is. He thinks he convinced me to be here, to do what I’ve already done.
I swallow my annoyance. The arrogance he must possess to think there’s anything he could do to pique my interest in my dead mother.
As I glare past him, my eyes snag on the armory in the back of the room, left open. With swords, shields, and a pair of twin blades with green and gray stones embedded into the hilt.
They’re gorgeous. I could see myself using them, fighting the way Lucian fights Yuki.
I could have used them against the pernipe.
Perhaps I would, if I were allowed in Combat Training.
Lucian approaches, sheathing his sword. He’s out of breath and sweaty as he asks, “What did you find?”
I don’t look away from the blades in the armory. I want them for myself. Would anyone notice if they were gone? There’s so many.
“Not here.” Before I can stop myself, I add, “Are those all the weapons?”
“Not even close. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
I wonder what other weapons would call to me.
I can still feel the pernipe’s life buzzing in my hands, taking power back from the thing that deemed me powerless.
I don’t know how long I’ll hold this feeling in my fingers, but I like it.
It’s a reminder that I can save myself. That maybe, just maybe, I can save the next person.
“Let’s go,” I mutter.
I follow as Lucian walks through the academy halls, ducking my head as students pass. They’re already suffocating me; I fear what eye contact would do right now.
When Lucian approaches the academy exit, I grab his arm.
I open my mouth, choking on other people’s words before I can get out my own: “We can’t go past the barrier.”
“What happened?”
I don’t answer at first. Not because I don’t want to. There’s a part of him that already knows. A certainty stirring in his question.
Perhaps he’s making an incorrect assumption. Perhaps he’s keeping things from me. Whichever it is, I anticipate that he will share his secrets when I share mine—that’s what a decent person would do.
I’m not sure I believe that Lucian is a decent person.
Every second I remain silent, his suspicion simmers beneath the surface, and I can’t help but wonder how much he truly understands.
Has he learned something about my ma?
“A pernipe attacked me,” I spit out. “I killed it.”
His eyes widen, and I’m delighted by his shock and sudden appraisal. He looks at me as if I’ve changed before his eyes—a delicate seed has sprouted into a ferocious thorn.
I think I’d like the worlds to feel this way about me—to see me as strong. It’s no secret that the Eunoia are regarded as weak. As if the balance and peace we accomplish is not a worthy cause for life.
I disagree with that. But I don’t think I believe there’s never a reason to fight—unlike most of the Eunoia.
There’s a time and a place for it, the way there was today with the pernipe. Even if every Eunoia would have run, I’m glad I stayed to fight.
“All right,” Lucian says with a nod, the hint of a smile curving his lips. “I have another location.”
We walk through the halls once more, stopping at Lucian’s suite. When he calls for Azaire, I stay silent.
Azaire exits, glancing at me and searching for some kind of connection. I can’t give him any, and he quickly understands, looking away.
The emotions of the two boys are abundantly clear.
One is confused but hungry. Insatiably so.
He believes knowledge will fill a pit within his soul.
The other feels quiet. Azaire feels quiet.
I like that. I cling to that, and my heart finally slows.
It’s been beating like a lone leaf trembling in the wind for days now.
We walk upstairs to the Royal floor. As far as I know, it’s never used. I stifle a sneeze as I sit, running a finger along the table, collecting a pile of dust and revealing the dark wood beneath.
“I found this in my mom’s study.” I pull the book from my bag. “It’s glamoured.”
“How do you know?” Lucian asks.
“For one, this book is written by Shenlin, not Marto. Second, it doesn’t feel like my ma or anything else in her study.”
Holding it feels like carnage incarnate. I don’t know how else to describe it.
“Can I see it?” Azaire asks me.
“Yes.” I quickly hand him the book, avoiding his fingers.
Azaire examines it. I try not to examine him. It looks so natural in his hand. He’s always the shyest kid in class, perhaps second to me. But when he says, “They didn’t get the book right,” I have the feeling he could answer any question asked of him.
“Whoever glamoured it was in a hurry,” I add, but it’s only a guess. “Whatever it is was valuable enough to not warrant destruction.”
“Or it was indestructible,” Lucian says.
“Why wouldn’t they just take it?” I ask. It’s an open-ended question. I don’t expect him to answer.
But Azaire does not disappoint. He mutters, “Things are best hidden in plain sight,” and hands me the book.
I smother the smile that creeps up my lips.
“There’s more.” I clear my throat.
Something is hidden beneath this book. Potentially something dangerous. Whatever is beneath these fake pages could be horrific.
Unlike Lucian, I don’t want to draw people in with false pretenses.
“Whatever this is, I think it came from Folkara,” I tell them.
The air in the room goes still. I glance between the boys, waiting for their reply. But when Azaire and Lucian look at one another, I know immediately: there’s something they’re not telling me.
About my mother.
My dead mother.
How dare they hide that from me?
“You hide, too,” the boy says.
I rub my knuckles into the sockets of my eyes. “That’s not what this is about.”
“You’re free to hide, my love. I like you better to myself.”
“May I see the book?” Lucian asks.
I rip my hand from my face, begrudgingly handing it over.
“Why do you think it came from Folkara?” Azaire’s voice is gentle.
I don’t feel gentle when I look at him. I feel like I’m being lied to.
“You are,” the boy reminds me.
“I can force the truth if I have to,” I remind him.
“But would it feel truly earned, then?”
“I found papers,” I mutter to the room. The boy is right, but not entirely. I won’t find out anything about Ma if I can’t compromise. “All stamped with Folkara’s crest and signed by King Easton and Queen Melody.”
Azaire and Lucian glance at one another again. If it wasn’t clear before, it’s clear now.
They know something more.
“Tell me,” I demand.
Azaire’s gaze meets mine, and he doesn’t hesitate. “Folkara is making a Weapon.”
A Weapon? They must be wrong—they must have misunderstood. Or I’ve misunderstood. Ma would never… she would never.
Weapons have been outlawed for centuries.
And for good reason. They’re powered by people—our life force.
They steal our magic and potentially our lives if taken too far.
In a similar vein, if the life force is strong enough, there’s no telling what a Weapon could do.
Destroy every world. Possibly the entire universe.
One nearly did in the Arcanian War. That’s why they’re outlawed.
But I feel the dread coming from Azaire, and that doesn’t manifest without truth. Without knowing.
There really is a Weapon, isn’t there?
“You’ve seen it?” I ask, and guilt curdles in my gut like month old milk. I could nearly puke. Lucian could nearly puke—and it puts together the pieces for me. “That’s where you came from? When Azaire was half-dead.”
Lucian avoids my gaze. “Yes.”
“You lied to me.” Anger floods through me like lava ripping through cracked stone. This is about my mother.
“You would’ve known if I’d lied,” Lucian says, so smugly I’d like to shake him. To curse him. So very funny, asshole. As if my being able to pinpoint lies is a parlor trick. As if my power is a pleasantry and not a plague.
“At what point does omitting the truth become a lie?” I ask him, trying my very best not to sneer. Wondering if I’m failing.
Sure that I am.
Words from a past life haunt me. You’re so expressive, Little Thorn. Because feeling others’ emotions is not nearly enough to torment someone. The gods had to make sure I couldn’t hide my own, either.
“When you’re intentionally hiding something,” Azaire says.
My heart flutters. I look at him momentarily. Give him a small smile.
Grow angry with myself for feeling gentleness in his gaze.
I don’t want to look away, but when tears prickle at my eyes, I look forward and bite my lip.
That’s exactly what Ma would say.
Ma the philosopher—not the weapon builder.
“Yes,” Lucian sighs. “I lied.”
“I told you not to be vague about my mother,” I scold while trying not to scold. Trying not to lose my head. But there’s no adverse reaction. Lucian understands the outburst. Azaire does, too.
Does he know?
Did Lucian tell him about Ma?
“Did he tell you?” I snap, accidentally, at Azaire.
“Tell me what?”
“I didn’t tell him.” Lucian’s words almost make his intentions seem sincere. But I can feel the deceit beneath. It wasn’t sympathy or respect that convinced him to hold my secret.
“Tell me what?” Azaire asks again.
My heart aches for him. He’s being roped into this, I know it. Lucian’s will is strong, cold and sharp like edged steel. Azaire’s is a caterpillar in a cocoon, waiting for his wings to grow.
I shove the book in my bag. “My mom’s dead,” I answer without looking at Azaire. I’m not prepared for his sympathy.
I think it would break me.
I think gentleness is the one thing I don’t know how to handle.
I think it would be my undoing.
Everyone else walks around with armor on their hearts and knuckles. Always so ready to punch, hoping the blow will land twice as hard as the ones they’ve received. But not Azaire. A part of me thinks he should. A part of me thinks ferocity is strength.
Another part doesn’t know either side of that coin.
“Whoever gave you her name likely didn’t even know that this was in her study,” I continue.
“And if they did, they didn’t think you’d find it.
” I look at Azaire. Someone has to tell him.
“They sent you on a fool’s errand.” I twist toward the exit, my hand on the knob as I say, “I’m going to get the glamour stripped. ”
“Allow me,” Lucian interrupts. “I’ll take it to Calista.”
I pull my bag closer in case Lucian reaches for it—I wouldn’t put it past him.
“I can do it.”