29. Max
MAX
B efore the Sorting, the hostility came mostly from male cadets. Now that I’d been outed as a woman—one who’d fooled them all and attracted their princes, the female cadets had joined the war.
Yesterday was a shit show. After I rode the dragon flame naked in front of a crowd, every cadet at the Broken Drum had watched the shifter prince drape his arm over my shoulders like I belonged there.
Then two heirs got into a duel over me—something that had apparently never happened in the history of the Zodiac Covenant.
Small mercy that Aelindor and Nikolai hadn’t been there.
Bryn thrived on it. She recapped the events in a breathless torrent as we crossed the academy grounds toward class. “We were at the heirs’ table, Max. The VIP booth. No one’s treating us like bottom feeders again.”
“We’re first-year cadets,” I said. “Being bottom feeders might not be the worst thing. Drawing too much attention, on the other hand?—”
She looped her arm through mine, clinging. I tolerated it for a few seconds, then shrugged her off.
“Max?” Hurt flickered across her face.
“This just looks ridiculous.” I gestured at us—me, a full head taller, her barely reaching my shoulder. “Unsoldierly. We’ll get mistaken for two gossiping chambermaids. Plus, I’m not the clinging type.”
“Wow.” She blinked. “You think I’m hitting on you?”
I drew a breath. The suspicion had crossed my mind.
I thought of Rogue, who’d been in love with me and followed me into the Scorched Wastes because of it.
He never came back. He didn’t even know I was a woman.
That guilt still sat in my chest like lead.
I didn’t want it for Bryn. Better to be blunt than to bury another friend.
“Are you?”
“You’re such a straight shooter, Max.” She studied me for a beat and smiled.
“What’s wrong with that?” I spread my arms. “I don’t have time for games.”
“There are games everywhere, no matter how the world turns. But you’re the kind who never stabs people in the back.”
“I might surprise you.”
She laughed. “Sure.”
“Listen, Bryn. I’m straight. Even when I pretended to be a boy. I had my reasons.”
“Of course.” She nodded without pushing.
That was the thing about Bryn—she knew when to leave a door closed.
“And to clear the air—I ain’t hitting on you.
Crush? Maybe a little. But you’re way out of my league.
Even the heirs orbit you, Max. You don’t see it.
You don’t act like it. But you’re special. ”
A flicker of sadness crossed her hazel eyes before she blinked it away.
“The last thing I need right now is a relationship,” she continued.
“I did three years with Lindsy. The moment a half-assed mage came along and promised to elevate her station, she dropped me like dead weight.” Bryn’s voice shifted into a mocking lilt, the kind of sweetness that had been rehearsed in front of a mirror.
“‘You’re the only one I love, Bryn. Just let me get a better footing. I’ll come back for you.
I promise.’” The lilt died. Her jaw set.
“I told her, ‘I never want to see you again, two-faced bitch.’ And she had the gall to look like I damaged her.” She snorted. “I’m done with the dating scene.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” I heard how flat that sounded and added, “Her loss. I guess.” Even though Bryn was my friend, I’d learned never to blindly swallow one side of a story. Relationships were complicated.
“I’m not doing bad for myself.” The grin returned. “I survived the Sorting. I was drinking with an heir at the VIP table. Everyone’s jealous.” She straightened her spine. “Let them be.”
“Being the object of jealousy isn’t a prize, Bryn.” I held her gaze. “It’s a target.”
I was already a target. I didn’t want it for my friend.
My current goal was simple: learn fast, get stronger, prove to the heirs I could be an asset. Then I’d have the leverage to go back for Missy and bring her here. The last thing I needed was petty jealousy from the cadets getting in my way.
“We can handle a little trouble.” Bryn waved me off. “I’m not afraid of those bitches. Been dealing with their type my whole life.”
I hadn’t. Slave miners didn’t have the luxury of pettiness. Down in the tunnels, you worked, you survived, or you died. The surface world ran on different rules.
I clenched my jaw. Whatever shit came, I’d soldier on. Same as always.
At the training complex, Bryn and I split.
Her schedule had her in the aquatics wing—an endurance drill where cadets went underwater carrying weighted scales and held their breath until their lungs screamed.
Whoever surfaced last scored highest. She cracked her knuckles and jogged off without a backward glance. I wished her luck.
Bryn had no magic, but she had superhuman strength—the Rupture’s gift, and the reason Greycrown had accepted her.
She didn’t need an ex-girlfriend or a mage to lift her station.
My friend could grip the front bumper of a military vehicle and hoist the wheels off the ground.
I’d watched her do it in training, casual as picking up a chair.
Vossmark Training Center dominated the academy grounds: two stories of reinforced concrete, arched windows along the upper level, wide bay doors below opening onto the training yards.
Inside, the corridors split into three wings: close-quarters combat to the west, weapons and armory to the north, magical instruction to the east. Out back, the yards ran in a grid of sand pits, obstacle courses, and sparring rings.
My class met in the east wing’s outdoor yard—open air, packed earth underfoot, spell-dampening wards carved into the surrounding fences.
The notice had come through on my tablet that morning: a magic class added to my curriculum. Effective immediately.
My stomach dropped when I read it. A low, persistent buzz of anxiety burrowed behind my ribs and wouldn’t leave. I’d hoped magic instruction would come later—when I was ready, when I understood the demon’s power better.
The evidence wasn’t subtle. The shockwave I’d thrown at Slade and his crew in the barracks.
The force that rose when Kevin’s gang pinned me at the camp town.
Both times, the power only surfaced when the demon decided to let it.
It chose the moments. It held the tap. I was just the pipe it ran through.
In a classroom, with an instructor evaluating and cadets measuring themselves against me, the demon wouldn’t cooperate. It wanted me begging for its help, trading pieces of my will for power.
I’d rather fail every assessment and look bad in front of the whole class than cave in to its game.