Chapter Twenty-Four #3
Nuha lifts her chin, and I glimpse the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders as she draws in a steadying breath.
“Your every action, every decision, will be monitored through the use of these.” She holds up a small, braided bracelet interwoven with small stones.
“It is an amplifier embedded with anthrine mined directly from the Endymion Mountains. It will allow us to keep tabs on you for the duration of the exams.” Her hands drop back to her sides, and she lowers her head, clearly finished with speaking.
And I feel both sad and heavy watching her wear the fabrics of repressed sadness—of hidden pain.
It forms a sharp cracking sensation in my chest, knowing what she’s going through and still having to be here, addressing a room like nothing has happened.
Like she hasn’t just lost the love of her life.
It reminds me of a cold fact that once threatened to unravel me: the world goes on, whether or not you’re ready to go on with it.
A blurry image of a dagger gripped between my fingers appears in my mind, and I am helpless as it shows me the story of how it plunged into an undeserving heart.
My fault.
It should have been me.
“Your test begins tomorrow,” Josiah informs us.
“You must be standing in this arena, flower in hand, before the third moon rises. Should you succeed, the captains will evaluate you. Should you fail, you needn’t bother attending the judgment.
” He glances over at the five captains, silently weighing something over.
“Draven will escort you to the guest wing, where you will find your accommodations.” He gestures the salute of the Jurafen—three fingers over the heart—and then turns his back to the crowd, disappearing into the shadows.
I shake all the lingering thoughts and emotions from my head, glancing up just in time to see Draven shoot a pointed glare at Josiah as he saunters away.
I also catch the tiny, taunting smile Kiran flashes Draven before shuffling from the mezzanine with the other captains.
A gesture that results in Draven wearing an even more annoyed expression, if such a thing is possible.
He runs a hand through his shaggy hair and releases an irritated sigh. When he speaks, I’m unprepared for the voice that ripples into the room. “Okay, listen up.”
Everyone goes still. Utterly silent. Slowly, as if any sudden movements may cause them unsolicited harm, the crowd turns toward the booming voice.
“I’m Draven, captain over the Elefet aggregate.
All of you are going to follow me to your temporary living quarters.
You will sleep two to a room, and the rooms are pretty cramped, so most of you shouldn’t bother with unpacking.
” His eyes slowly rove across the sea of faces.
To my absolute delight, they don’t stop on me.
“Meet me in the courtyard in two minutes.” Then just like that, he turns and walks away without so much as another word.
Yeah, he’s still the same as he was in the valley. A bit colder and more clipped—who knew that could happen—but the same, nonetheless.
As the examinees scramble toward the corridor—probably in fear Draven will take their heads or worse if they’re late—I huff a dry laugh and sarcastically mutter to Marcella, “He has a real way with people, doesn’t he?” We follow the crowd, shuffling awkwardly as we go.
Marcella drops her voice. “I hear Elefet is an aggregate filled with barbarians. That they recruit the most ruthless, skilled fighters in every entrance exam.”
I scoff, unsurprised. “Fitting he’s their captain, then.” Though, the nature of Marcella’s information strikes me. “How is it you know so much about the different aggregates?”
“My family operates a spice farm. My two older brothers travel along the trade routes to sell our spices at different markets. A few years back, the lead chef at Bathara purchased some of our spices and was so impressed, he sent a messenger back a few days later requesting we be his permanent supplier. Now, we have a trade agreement with him, and my brothers deliver the supplies to Bathara personally when they can.” She lifts a lazy hand and shrugs.
“They try to keep information locked down around here, but my brothers have made some friends along the way. And let’s just say, sometimes, those friends like to gossip.
” She pauses, considering. “Though, what I know barely scratches the surface. Makes you wonder what all goes on around here, doesn’t it? ”
That it does.
She blows out a longing sigh. “At least it keeps things entertaining.”
We funnel out of the arena and scatter around the courtyard. True to his word, Draven appears right at the two minute mark, arms folded and lips stretched tightly into a straight line. “Let’s go.” Without any further elaboration, he turns and strides off.
Marcella and I trail behind the masses as we follow Draven to a large stairwell leading to one of Bathara’s many wings.
He pushes against the large doors with two hands, swinging them open, and the hinges squeak with greeting while the wood groans.
We step inside, and Marcella lets out a low whistle that echoes off the walls.
The foyer is the size of perhaps three Great Halls and basks in the warm glow of countless flickering torches.
Pulsing globes emit a soft, white light, suspended from the ceiling.
The walls are adorned with tapestries depicting the five emblems of the different aggregates, and beneath our feet is a mosaic of swirling patterns, the tile filled with whites, beiges, and grays.
Rare woods detailed with gemstones form the backbones of plush, velvet chairs, and directly in the center lies a glittering fountain ensconced between balance scales.
“This way,” Draven calls to the group without even sparing a glance over his shoulder, not giving us time to marvel at the sight.
He escorts us into a corridor lined with stained glass windows, whose panes depict artwork of the Canamae, the primary gods.
Ornate, candle-lit chandeliers hang overhead and guide us to another narrowing hallway that veers left and then right, leading us to a large open space with a trail of doors lining the walls.
Draven halts without warning in the middle of the opening and finally turns to face us. “This is where you’ll be staying. Bathing chambers are down the hall and to the left. Pick someone to bunk with, find a bed, and try not to bother anyone in the process.”
A slender girl with bobbed, black hair raises her hand, the gesture slow and timid.
Draven releases a breath—as if even the smallest question is the largest inconvenience to his day—and folds his arms. “Yes?”
The girl’s cheeks color with red splotches. “Do we, uhm…are we allowed to bunk with anyone ?”
Draven blinks at her before arching a brow. “Do as you wish. We’re not here to babysit you or your—” he tilts his head, considering his word choice. “—activities.”
Her face heats with a red so deep, it borderline looks purple. She loudly clears her throat and replies with a brisk nod.
Marcella snickers beside me, and I nudge my elbow into her side, shooting her a wide-eyed look. She flares her eyes back at me, as if to silently protest, What ? It’s funny.
I roll my eyes in response, but accidentally let a bout of laughter slip from my lips. Draven’s sullen stare whips to Marcella and me.
Oh, shit. Not good.
Marcella audibly gulps as he approaches, and I press my lips tightly together to prevent any other noises from slipping out.
“Something funny?” Draven purrs with a misleading curiosity.
Marcella and I exchange hesitant glances before shaking our heads in perfect synchrony.
He leans back and folds his corded arms over his broad chest as he eyes Marcella, dragging his eyes to me next, where they remain. “No? That’s a shame. I was really hoping for a good laugh.”
My lips move faster than my mind. “You certainly act like you could use one. ”
Marcella snorts a laugh next to me, immediately clapping a hand over her mouth afterward.
Draven cocks a brow while a low hum rumbles in the back of his throat, and I swear I hear the breath whoosh from the person next to me.
He takes a step toward me. And then another.
And another. Until his towering figure is no more than a few inches away from me.
Slowly, he leans down and brushes his full lips against my ear.
“If you want to make it around here, I suggest you learn to keep that sharp tongue of yours on a leash. We’re not in Foreigner’s Valley anymore, and I’m no longer some stranger on a scouting mission to you. ”
He pulls back just a few inches, allowing his eyes direct access to my own. My breathing catches in my throat, and I send a prayer up to Algol—the god of trickery and deception—that Draven doesn’t notice.
The corner of his lip twitches with a smug smirk.
Bastard.
He noticed.
Draven recedes, clearly satisfied, and turns to leave, offering no more than a parting wave over his shoulder. “If any of you need anything, find someone else to bother.”
Everyone sits in a few, tentative seconds of silence before exploring the area and resuming conversation.
I suggest you learn to keep that sharp tongue of yours on a leash.
I click my tongue as the words simmer in my stomach.
There is something peculiar about Draven’s presence.
It’s hard to place, but it’s like a contradiction of ice on a flame.
A tamed rage. He was already mildly unpleasant in the valley, but here?
Here it’s like all the walls and jadedness are fortified and put on full display.
Marcella speaks, and I twitch at the sudden remembrance that I’m not alone. “I’m not sure if I’m scared of him, or really turned on by him.”
I scoff a laugh and shake my head at her. “If you were wise, you’d be the former, not the latter.”
She exhales a dramatic sigh. “Alas, I am not known for my wisdom.” A wicked curve tugs at her lips. “I have a crippling weakness, you see, for always wanting to know how those brooding men are in bed. ”
“It’s always the quiet, brooding ones that make the best lovers,” I muse with humor, solely to entertain Marcella.
She tilts her head, as if contemplating, and says through a sigh, “Their inner-demons are my inner-pleasures.”
My brows skip up, and I bark a laugh. “If we were truly wise,” I begin, veering down a different path, “we’d search for a room near the bathing chambers.”
Marcella hums with approval. “Clever.” She regards me, a smile blooming across her lips. “I knew there was a reason I immediately liked you.”
The words spark a sudden warmth in my chest. I’ve never had a real friend outside of Gray. Not really, anyway. Nor have I ever met someone brimming with such raucous life and unyielding tenacity like Marcella. Finding both in one person feels like a gift I don’t deserve.
And as I follow Marcella down the corridor toward a small room on the left, the scent of nobles’ lavender soap already drifting in the air, I can’t help but notice how quickly life can overturn itself—whether by divine force or mere chance.
Not so long ago, I served a king who cared nothing for my fate beyond the next assignment he gave me.
Now, here I am, dusting off a thin sheet on a narrow mattress in Bathara, alongside a copper-haired girl whose wicked tongue and warrior spirit overflow with such raw vitality, my heart tightens just at her grin.
Someone who doesn’t see me as King Alastair’s lowly night attendant.
Someone who doesn’t sneer at my lack of titles, common blood, or lowborn status. She regards me as if I matter.
And I’m not sure whether to cling to that feeling or let it slip away. Part of me still believes I have no right to the feeling—that it’ll end in flames, just as it did before.
Still, the thought tugs at the corners of my lips, as if they are connected by a string.
My first friend outside the shadows of Rivara.