Chapter 28 #3
Davrin’s face slowly drains of color, but there’s a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he does as asked and slowly rises. “Of course, Resonant. I’ll leave your … promising student … to her meal.”
The way he says promising makes my skin crawl. Davrin might as well have shouted to everyone here that he thinks I’ve slept my way into this position. He certainly doesn’t need any subtext.
“I don’t believe I’ve dismissed you yet, Initiate.”
Davrin freezes mid-step.
“Since you seem so eager to test boundaries this morning,” Falcen continues, voice soft, “It’s wonderful of you to volunteer.”
Davrin’s throat bobs. “Volunteer, Resonant?”
“Fortuitous, isn’t it?” Falcen says. “I was in need of a demonstration subject for today’s combat training.”
Whispers ripple throughout the hall.
“Please don’t,” I say under my breath, knowing Falcen will hear me. If Davrin was ever to become my nemesis, this is that moment.
“That’s right. I’m your instructor today,” Falcen announces to the room at large. He turns his back to me while he does it.
Rook’s eyes widen, and she shoots me a look that’s equal parts horror and fascination.
“Combat training begins in twenty minutes. Anyone tardy will join Initiate Koll in the arena immediately.”
Falcen passes Davrin, bumping into him with a dismissive shove that sends him stumbling.
It’s not enough to prevent Davrin from sending a scathing look my way, though.
The breakfast hall empties with unsettling speed, students abandoning half-eaten meals in their rush to avoid Falcen’s wrath. I remain frozen, watching Davrin’s retreating back, the promise of retribution etched in every line of his body.
“Start moving,” Falcen says to me, not bothering to look my way as he strides toward the exit.
Rook squeezes my arm.
“Gods help you,” she whispers, then follows the stream of bodies flowing toward the combat arena.
I hurry after Falcen, his broad shoulders parting the crowd like a ship’s bow through water.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I hiss once I catch up. “He already hated me. Now he’ll make my life a living hell.”
Falcen doesn’t break stride. “He was already planning to. But this way, he’ll be too damaged to act on it immediately.”
“I don’t need you to defend me!”
Falcen rounds on me. It’s so unexpected that I bite the inside of my cheek in surprise.
But he doesn’t stop there. He stares down his nose, regarding me like scum below his chin. If scum could be annihilated by molten lava.
I’m so thrown by his sudden wave of hatred that I trip backward, smacking into the stone wall of the corridor.
“Never mistake my teachings for any defense of you.”
The way he says it and how he’s regarding me in this current moment is what does it. At least, that’s what I’ll tell myself later tonight when I replay what happens next over and over in my head on a loop.
I square my shoulders, rise onto my toes, and get into his face.
“I am so sick of this dance,” I snarl, my voice deeper than normal.
“One minute, you’re training me, the next you’re slicing me open.
One minute, you’re pressed against me in the archives, the next you’re acting like I’m nothing but an inconvenience thrust upon you.
Which is it, Falcen? What exactly am I to you? ”
His eyes flare, the only indication that my outburst has caught him off guard.
“You’re my assignment,” he says coldly, but I notice his gaze flicking to where my hand is clenched against the wall.
“Bullshit.” The word feels good on my tongue, sharp and satisfying. “You don’t abandon the academy for an assignment. You don’t risk your position for an assignment. And you certainly don’t touch an assignment the way you’ve touched me.”
A strange heat builds behind my eyes, and my ember pulses with wicked delight. I feel her stretching, reaching toward the surface of my skin as if she’s been waiting for this moment.
Falcen’s jaw tightens. “Lower your voice.”
The corridor has emptied, leaving us alone in the dim passage. My heart hammers against my ribs, but I refuse to back down.
“No.” I step closer, eliminating what little space remains between us. “Answer my question. Which is it? Am I your student or your plaything? You don’t get to play both sides. You can’t protect me one moment and despise me the next. Choose a position and stick with it.”
He focuses on my face.
“Your eyes,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
I can feel it. A strange heaviness, a darkness seeping into my vision like ink spreading through water.
Falcen’s hand shoots out, gripping my jaw. But instead of pushing me away, he tilts my face up, studying the transformation.
“What is it?” I whisper, my temper forgotten. “What do you see?”
“Veilrot. It’s in your eyes.”
I try to pull away, panic clawing up my throat, but he holds firm.
“Let me go,” I hiss.
“You need to control it.” His tone becomes low and urgent. “Now.”
The ember inside me twists with pleasure, feeding off my anger, my frustration, my fear. I can feel her expanding, pushing against the boundaries of my skin, seeking escape through my vision.
“I can’t,” I whisper, my breath coming in short gasps. “She’s too strong.”
Falcen’s gaze narrows. “That’s the second time you’ve referred to what’s going on inside you as ‘she.’”
I curse inwardly at my slip. “It. The Veilrot. I can’t control it when I’m—”
“When you’re what?” His breath is warm against my face. “Angry? Afraid?” His eyes drop briefly to my lips. “Aroused?”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Stop it.”
My ember pulses eagerly, stretching toward Falcen’s touch like a cat seeking affection. The sensation is so unexpected that I gasp.
Falcen exhales through his nose, his focus unwavering as he searches my face. “It appears we are both fucking damned.”
A bell tolls somewhere in the distance, its full-bodied chime echoing through the stone corridor. Falcen’s hand drops away from my face.
“Combat training,” he says, his voice returning to its usual detached tone. “Get yourself under control before you follow.”
He turns and strides away, leaving me trembling against the wall. I press my palms against my eyes, willing whatever this is to recede.
Is that what you are? A form of Veilrot?
The ember just laughs.
I take several deep breaths, focusing on the cool stone against my back until the strange heaviness behind my eyes begins to fade. When I finally push away from the wall, my reflection in a nearby window shows normal green eyes.
Oh, thank Lux.
The combat arena thrums with nervous energy when I arrive. Initiates cluster in small groups, their voices hushed as they eye the two dark tunnels leading into the arena. I, too, study the tunnels I hadn’t noticed before in the darkness when training with Falcen.
Falcen stands at the center of the arena.
He’s removed his cloak and wears just his cuirass with no tunic underneath, like a knight’s breastplate, but made from leather instead of steel.
I’m forced to swallow as I give his bare, muscled arms a once-over, revealing the soul-glyph tattoos spiraling down his forearms with a faint blue light, likely in response to our altercation in the corridor.
“Initiate Holbrook,” he calls without looking in my direction. “Join the others.”
I slip into the crowd, finding myself beside Rook, who shoots me a worried glance.
Her hair is pulled back in a practical knot, and she’s changed into the reinforced training leathers that all initiates wear during combat sessions.
I’ve been in mine since Falcen unceremoniously woke me up well before anyone else.
“Are you alright?” she whispers. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
Davrin stands on the opposite side of the circle, his lanky frame coiled with nervous energy. His eyes find mine across the arena and shrink with a glare.
I break eye contact first.
“Today we move beyond theory,” Falcen announces, his voice carrying easily and drawing everyone’s attention. “You will face live combat. Some of you will excel. Others will bleed. A few may die.”
A collective intake of breath ripples through the gathered initiates. I notice several faces go bloodless, including Davrin’s.
My throat tightens as my focus is drawn back to the tunnels. A low growl emanates from one of them, vibrating against the clay walls.
“Your soul-weapons will be your only defense,” Falcen continues, pacing the circle’s perimeter. “Initiate Koll. Step forward.”
Davrin squares his shoulders and moves to the center of the arena. His steps are slow, as if each one requires conscious effort.
“Summon your weapon,” Falcen orders.
Davrin extends his right hand, palm up. Blue light pools in his cupped fingers before extending outward, solidifying into a curved blade, a scythe with a wicked edge that gleams.
Unlike my weapon, there’s no trace of Veilrot leaking from it. Just clean, pure Soulren energy.
Davrin smirks when other initiates gasp and comment on the sheer viciousness of his weapon.
“Impressive,” Falcen says without a hint of actual admiration. “Now, let’s see how you fare against something that wants to kill you.”
The rumbling grows louder. Small pebbles skitter across the ground, and dust falls from the ceiling. The other initiates back away, forming a wider circle around Davrin.
“What’s coming?” I whisper to Rook.
“I don’t know,” she breathes out in response. “Usually we get Hollows, or combat each other. This … I don’t know what that is.”
The answer comes with a deafening screech that sends several initiates to their knees, hands clamped over their ears. I stagger back, the sound piercing through my skull like a hot needle.