CHAPTER SEVEN
I T'S BEEN A WEEK SINCE we have arrived at Phixmery War Academy, and Nero and I have fallen into an easy little routine. We rise before everyone else so I can shower in peace before Yearwood, and I head down to the dining hall for a quiet breakfast where words are barely exchanged between us as the others in our squad speak quietly amongst themselves. Although the past couple days Rozen sometimes sits next to us too, if he hasn’t slept in, missing breakfast entirely.
Bracken has been avoiding me again, thank the fates, and has been hanging around with Cresida and Evera. Our two squads are always sitting next to each other, making it easier for them to get closer or whatever it is that they’re doing. The two females have been thankfully leaving me alone since I haven’t gotten our squad in any trouble since the first day, although I do catch glares that could kill coming from Cresida.
Combat lessons have been non-stop Physical Training, and my body hurts so much because of it that I’m tempted to go to medical for a tonic to ease my muscles, but Yearwood politely informed me that it’s frowned upon unless you’re practically on death’s doorstep to even set foot in there—it shows weakness if you can’t handle a bit of pain. Pain and I are old acquaintances, but it doesn’t mean I enjoy the constant aches.
Lessons with Captain Batsil are going as well as could be expected. She’s frustrated that my magick doesn’t live up to her standards of having a familiar, but she is impressed with the control I have, so today will hopefully be my last lesson with her after classes which should free up my time to see about heading to the library to do some research—something I’m not looking forward to but needs to be done.
“Are you ready to go?” Yearwood asks as she places her utensil down on her empty plate, glancing between Rozen and me.
I finish chewing my last bite and swallow. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Yearwood is still a bit prickly and quiet, but I enjoy her company, and even Rozen’s. They make this place more bearable, even if I’m going to have to leave them one day, and I find it harder each day to keep myself emotionally distant from them.
She searches my face with her sunny yellow eyes, a complete contradiction to her serious personality, before she settles on something. “You can call me Ember if you’d like,” she announces as she rises from the table, taking her tray with her.
But before she can take two paces away, Rozen jumps up. “Can I call you Ember too?”
“No,” she states without hesitation or breaking her pace.
He pouts and a chuckle erupts from me as he glances after her longingly. “She was kidding, right?”
I shake my head and follow after her, stepping over the bench as I go. “No, I don’t think she was. Come on, I don’t want to be late and give Evera even more reason to hate me.”
Our squad works fine together, but thankfully come the second year we will be placed in our permanent squads depending on which faction we end up in. Fingers crossed that Evera and Cresida won’t be in mine.
It’s a miracle I only have to deal with Evera right now, and not Cresida too, but because of her newfound friendship with my childhood tormentor, I find myself not trusting her and watching my back. I never sleep until the rest of the squad is passed out—not since that first day here. There’s just something about her that doesn’t sit right with me, and I can’t put my finger on it. The way Cresida and her whisper and glare at me… I even swear the belongings in my cabinets were moved around. Sometimes I almost let Nero go for her eyes like he keeps begging me to do… almost. I’m behaving myself.
This morning is just the same. The frigid winter morning instantly has all traces of fatigue leaving my body as the three of us make our way to where our squad has gathered, waiting for this morning’s torture. Nero ruffles his feathers and I know he’s itching to take flight and stretch.
“ Go on. If I need you, I’ll call ,” I tell him softly. “ I don’t want a dragon thinking you’re a snack or something, though. ”
He caws out a laugh. “ The dragons know I’m a familiar, Rav. They won’t harm me, but I promise to stay close. ” He nips my nose and takes off.
“So is it true that you can talk with your familiar?” Ember whispers and it startles me. She typically keeps conversation to a minimum.
My chin dips slowly as I peer up at her from the corner of my eye. “Yeah, we communicate telepathically.”
She nods back. “That’s pretty cool,” she whispers succinctly before focusing back in front of her.
Rozen leans down and murmurs in a conspiratorial whisper. “I still vote that he should poop on Commander Rune when he makes us do death runs.”
I stifle a laugh and shake my head. “No, he would know it was me and we would be cleaning out gryphon stalls or worse for the rest of the year, and I don’t need anymore reason to be disliked.” What I don’t tell him is that I need to stay on my best behaviour and hope the rest of our squad does too so I can figure out how to get out of here before I’m discovered.
He sighs, “That’s a shame.”
The commander in question takes that moment to stride into the training yard and we all stand to attention, waiting to see what kind of horrid exercise we are starting off with today.
“Alright everyone, since we have gotten through a week of warm-ups and I see where you all are at, I’m now going to be introducing the combat lessons. Every other day will be Physical Training to help mold those bodies into the best soldiers for Damorleia. During combat lessons, I will have the fourth years join us. Your appointed fourth years will partner up with your squads for the rest of the year; they will be your mentors and guides. You will listen to them and, if not, they have been given rights to hand out punishments as they see fit.”
A hushed murmur goes up in the crowd of first years as the fourth years file in and stand at the Commander’s back, waiting for instruction, looking every part intimidating soldiers: fae males and females with their eyes fixed blankly forward, feet shoulder-width apart and hands folded behind their backs.
Dread settles in my stomach, and I know I’d rather deal with the torture of Physical Training until I drop or empty the contents of my stomach until I’m heaving. I was never invited to participate in the combat training in Shalo for obvious reasons. I know absolutely nothing, and something tells me today is going to be painful in more ways than one. On the bright side, learning to fight will help my chances of escaping, and I’m choosing to focus on the positive of this situation.
Major General Rune calls out squads and begins to pair them off with fourth years. I knew my luck was bad, but when I hear, “Squad Four, you are paired with Wing One!” Evera’s excitement peaks and she squeals at being paired with the legendary Dragon Riders of Phixmery War Academy.
I’ve learned this past week that Wing One includes the three lordly sons, one of each of the Lords of Skyrivene, Allonde, and Imperset. They and two other riders have commanded high respect with their ruthlessness and tactical prowess both on and off the battlefield. And now, we are stuck with them for the foreseeable future.
Maybe I won’t die with their training, so it should be fine… right? At least until I can find a way out. Fucking fates, I hope so.
Once every squad in year one is paired off, we move to meet with the fourth years assigned to us, Ember and Rozen sticking close to my side. My eyes widen as I notice the male with the dragon tattoos along his scalp and I really get a closer look at him. The dull burning starts again. These tunics must not like my skin or something, I think as I rub my hand down the length of my stomach, hoping to alleviate the irritated skin.
He strides towards us in the fighting leathers we all wear. The black leather fits him closely, and under the insignia over his breast sits his rank, sergeant. His dark brown hair is slicked neatly back and shaved down on the sides to expose his beautiful dragon markings and pointed ears. His eyes are so mesmerizing with their golden hue, like miniature suns, especially as they take us in—his new charges. And even though it’s winter, his tanned skin stands out starkly against the bright snow. His chiseled jaw clenches and unclenches adding to his intimidating persona as he continues his stride towards us with his wing. Thanks to Rozen talking about how much he looks up to this wing, wanting to be a Dragon Rider himself, despite Yearwood wanting him to shut up about him, I know this fourth year is Talyn Craven and he’s as gorgeous as he is imposing—he reeks of danger. Although, not nearly as much as the fae male to his left, who towers over his already staggering height.
This male is at least seven feet tall, dwarfing my small frame. His raven-black hair is braided elegantly into numerous tiny braids, his red eyes are narrowed with annoyance and his brutish yet ruggedly handsome face is marred by the scowl that so far seems fixated there. The silver scars littered across his face may seem horrific, but if anything they just accentuate the threat that this male seems to carry with him.
To Talyn’s right is a male with long, pin-straight crimson hair and eyes as green as the evergreens, although a scar runs over his right brow, into his eye and down his cheek, turning the once green eye milky. The silver, puckered scar is stark against his tawny complexion.
I swallow hard. Every instinct has me wanting to run away from the danger these males pose as they stride towards us with the other two of their wing behind them.
Evera is practically panting as she gives Talyn doe eyes, batting her lashes. He gives her a small nod as they come to a halt in front of us.
His voice is as smooth as honey as he addresses us for the first time. “Cadets, I have two rules. My word is law: if I say jump, you jump; if you don’t, well, we have permission to punish you any way we please until you’re obedient little soldiers. That includes any regular punishment or maybe something more… creative. The second rule is: unless you’re dead, you don’t have an excuse to not perform any task we require. Do I make myself clear?”
We answer with a resounding, “Yes, Sir.”
“You will address me as Sergeant Craven. This male to my left is Sergeant Driscol.” He gestures to the giant male, and then to the red-haired male to his right. “Sergeant Verlice.” And then to the female and male behind him. “And these are Sergeants Hemming and Featherington.”
He places his hands on his tapered waist. “We are going to start with hand-to-hand combat. No magick, as I want to see what we are working with and how hard you’re going to make my life this year.” He and his wing begin moving across the training yard, and I glance at Rozen and Ember who shrug as we hurriedly follow behind them with the rest of our squad.
Nerves take root in my stomach. I just know this is going to be catastrophic for me. We arrive at a sand pit, a massive area that has been magically cleared of snow, and the ten of us gather around while Craven’s wing waits impatiently in the center for us.
“You and you.” Sergeant Craven gestures blindly at two of our squad members. “In the center and give me your names and magick type,” he grunts and then strides off to the side with the others. “Oh, and a reminder to Vopn Fo, keep your magick in check. You’re not permitted to use the advanced boost you get in combat.”
A few groans go up around the arena but I let out a breath of relief. At least that’s something I don’t need to worry about. I’ve never seen a Vopn Fo in action, but I’ve heard stories about how formidable they are from my father. I blink in surprise, trying to recall the details of the memory, but it slips my grasp, so I try to focus again on the task at hand.
Two males enter the ring and nod at each other. The taller of the two has deep purple eyes and long, brown hair tied neatly in a ponytail at the base of his neck. His hair is tucked behind the points of his ears and his slim face is set with determination. “I’m Cadet Bren Hayes, Szellemi,” he states firmly.
The other male is slightly shorter but has the same slim build—the one I’ve noticed trying to get away with sneaking in line for extra food—but has long blonde hair that’s tipped with a blue that the early morning sun brings out. He glances around the arena and his neon blue eyes are lit with amusement before he turns back to the wing leader. “Lennox Adair.” He winks at the female, Sergeant Hemming. “And I’m a water Elemi.”
The wink earns a glare from the Sergeant and a growl from the males in her wing before Sergeant Verlice hisses out the order to begin.
Hayes and Adair are instantly at each other in a flurry of punches and kicks, although Adair seems to be able to dodge more swiftly, reminding me of how fluid his element is. The air is thick with the scent of adrenaline and it’s contagious as others begin cheering them on. I watch with a small grin on my face. Maybe this lesson won’t be as bad as I’d thought it would be.
I scratch my sternum down along my stomach again. Maybe it’s the cleaning solution for my clothing?
My eyes drag back over to the wing leader and his two companions, but what I don’t expect is Sergeant Verlice staring at me with a furrowed brow, his mismatched eyes narrowing as he rubs the upper side of his thigh. My cheeks flame and my eyes snap back to the fight in front of me. It’s the most uncomfortable feeling, being caught looking at someone, but it doesn’t seem to faze him one bit as I feel his gaze drilling into the side of my head like he can see what’s in there. I hate this feeling they are inciting in me, this urge to challenge the three of them but to submit.
I brush it off because they are powerful males in their own right, but something primal within me tugs, and I do everything in my power to suppress the annoying feeling, instead opting to watch them out of the corner of my eyes.
They’re dangerous, that’s why I can’t keep my eyes off them. A survival instinct.
The sparring match comes to an end with Adair as the victor, and Craven gestures to two more silently before crossing his arms, brooding and waiting. This time a male and female enter the center and introduce themselves.
The female has dark red hair, woven into intricate plaits along her scalp and adorned with wooden beading. All the strands are tied back into a high bun with not a loose strand to be seen. Her tanned skin is decorated with silver scarring, much like the giant in Craven’s wing. “Zoela Spade, Vopn Fo,” her lyrical voice announces succinctly.
“Gregor Ellis, also Vopn Fo,” the male growls out as he flexes his fists with a scowl etched into his face, his yellow eyes narrowed on the lithe female in front of him, waiting for the order to begin.
At Craven’s cue they begin. Spade uses her smaller and quicker frame to weave around him and dodge his attacks, which only seems to anger Ellis. Something I’ve noticed since being here at Phixmery is that you can tell who’s Vopn Fo because they seem to carry themselves with indifferent anger, always ready to use their magick at the drop of a hat, and these two are constantly bickering with each other.
“Keep your magick at bay, Cadet Ellis, or your squad will be cleaning my dragon’s teeth after his dinner tonight,” Driscol snaps, and the charge that was in the air dissipates.
Ellis crouches and takes a breath and it seems almost physically painful, but Spade uses that opening to swing her leg, her boot connecting with his temple with a resounding thud. He falls to the ground completely unconscious while Spade stands over him with a smug grin before moving to the outskirts of the ring next to Evera, and they titter and laugh together.
Craven shakes his head at the male sprawled in the sand. “Hayes, Adair, move him out of the ring and then you two next.” He gestures to Evera and myself.
My mouth instantly dries up as I move on shaky legs to the center.
“You got this Ravina!” Rozen encourages.
I give him a shaky smile and shake out my sore limbs a bit before turning to Wing One and addressing Craven but not meeting his or the others gaze. “Ravina Solace, Fire Elemi.” And I’m thanking the fates that my voice doesn’t give away my nerves that are making my stomach cramp.
Unable to resist the urge, I meet Craven’s gaze full on and I vaguely hear Evera introduce herself as a fire and earth Elemi, but it doesn’t matter to me. For some unknown reason I take an unconscious step towards him. I’m taken back a bit and not prepared when he cues the fight, breaking our eye contact. I whip towards Evera and just manage to evade her right hook but manage to fall on my ass.
“Are you sure you’re a fire Elemi?” she sneers. “Cresida said you were a null, and I’m really starting to think she’s right if this is the way you fight.”
She throws another punch, hitting me in the face as I stand and stumble back, although this time staying on my feet, shockingly, and I feel a strange pressure in my head but I just brush it off as a side effect of being punched.
This time though, when she gets in close enough, I ball my hand and swing up towards her face, but my attack bounces off her forearm and she swings for my gut, knocking the wind from my lungs. Before I can even recover, Evera flips her black hair over her shoulder and smirks, and the last thing I see before darkness takes over is her fist flying towards my face.