Chapter 8
Eight
Ivy
Ibob and dodge, blocking a punch and narrowly avoiding a knee to my gut.
My sparring partner swivels, and I see a brief opening where I could whip a jabbing thumb into her eye. That’s what I’d do if this were an actual life-or-death fight, but I don’t think my employer would approve of street tactics in his combat class.
And the noblewoman I’m sparring with doesn’t deserve it anyway.
I rein in my defensive instincts and shoot out my fist more loosely, giving her the opportunity to block. The point of this drill is for the students to get a feel for constantly moving on their feet while in face-to-face conflict, not to destroy my opponent.
I’m grateful Stavros is allowing me to participate in the lesson at all. It’d be terribly boring standing on the sidelines handing out water and patching up minor scrapes.
No doubt he’s studying my every movement, watching for an excuse to declare that I really am an irredeemable menace after all. He might even be hoping he gets one.
The former general’s voice rings out from across the field.
“All right, people! Switch partners again. Every enemy you go up against will have a slightly different approach. If you’re on the ground in a battle, you need to be prepared to adapt in an instant, or you’ll find yourself underfoot rather than on your feet. ”
A few of the students around me chuckle at his dry tone. I turn away from the woman I was up against, wiping at the sweat that’s formed on the back of my neck, and look for the guy I particularly wanted to have some face time with.
My gaze catches that of the male student I was searching for, several paces away. When I make a gesture of invitation, he strolls over to take the position across from me.
Even though I prompted this face-off, my pulse gives a brief hitch alongside a tiny defensive flare of my magic. The man approaching me is one of the bug club members from Alek’s homemade dossiers. The scholar’s simple sketch captured the bulky guy’s broad nose and boxy jawline perfectly.
Julita must recognize both him and my intentions. Better be careful with this one, Ivy.
As the possible scourge sorcerer comes to a stop in front of me, I dip my head in acknowledgement of both our intention to spar and Julita’s point. The sparse facts Alek pulled together whirl through my thoughts.
This is Olari Igorek, second son of Provint Igor of Yersi, who governs that province. Dedicated to Sabrelle, in his third year at the college.
A family as prominent as his would normally see any children going into military service becoming majors, if not generals, right out of the gate. Olari has shown a preference for more hands-on field tactics rather than broader strategy, in line with settling for captain.
He’d rather be bossing around the infantry and engaging in regular skirmishes than worrying about the larger issues of a conflict, apparently.
Other than the entomology club, he’s a member of the fencing club and the darts league. Obvious competitive streak. He received an award in a dueling contest last year.
None of that tells me whether he definitely enjoys the idea of using others’ pain to fuel whatever gifts he came by through his own sacrifice. Although I see what sacrifice he made when his lips draw back in a grin of challenge.
His upper front four teeth have been replaced with steel replicas.
If we ever get into a real fight, I’ll have to make sure he’s never in a position to bite me.
Olari makes the first lunge without waiting for any additional signal that I’m ready to begin. His fist sweeps over my ducked head.
I spring to the side. Thank all that’s holy I spent most of the past several years honing my speed as well as my strength.
“You’re pretty skilled for your size,” my opponent remarks as we circle each other. “I can see why Stavros hired you.”
Is he trying to lower my guard with compliments?
I can’t complain, because he’s giving me my opportunity to drop a hint of my supposedly deviant attitudes in case he’ll pass the information on to Ster. Torstem. “I don’t believe we should be limited by what we were born with. I’ve always striven to become more.”
Olari hums approvingly, and our conversation falls off into a series of blows and blocks as he tries to land a strike. I keep my silence patiently, waiting for another good opening to throw in a telling remark, not wanting to come on suspiciously strong.
As we circle each other, Olari eases slightly back. “You’ve arrived in the middle of a rather chaotic time here at the college. You mustn’t have been expecting to deal with daimon crashing balls and toppling buildings.”
Interesting that he’s bringing that subject up. I shrug, debating my answer.
The scourge sorcerers were obviously in favor of chaos, but Wendos didn’t make it clear exactly why. Only that he thought somehow it’d set the world “right.”
Julita pipes up with a hushed suggestion, as if she’s afraid Olari might overhear. My brother and Wendos sometimes talked about how violence and pain are just the natural order of things.
That does sound like the sort of sentiment scourge sorcerers would appreciate—to justify the pain they inflict.
I pick my words carefully. “There’s so much chaos in the rest of the world, I guess it’s more surprising that the spirit-creatures don’t act out more often themselves. Although I’m sure that’s not much comfort to those who were harmed.”
Olari lets out a faint snort. “Indeed.”
He swipes at my jaw and then my ribs, managing to knock my side just slightly before I dart away. I answer with a sweep of my foot against his calf that would have sent him stumbling if he wasn’t so sturdy.
Maybe I can pick his brain for a hint about what the scourge sorcerers’ current plans are, if he’s involved with them. “The daimon have settled down quite a bit since the day they broke the Quadring. The clerics the king sent in must be very skilled.”
Will the remark sting his pride and prompt an insinuation about other reasons the spirit-creatures seem to have backed off?
Olari chuckles, his breath only a little rough with exertion. “I suppose we’ll see.” He attempts another strike. “There’s been a lot of speculation going around about why the daimon were so agitated to begin with.”
He leaves that open-ended comment hanging. Apprehension prickles through my nerves with a deeper certainty.
He didn’t give any clues with his vague statement about the daimon’s current behavior, but I’m increasingly sure this guy is on Torstem’s side. He’s adding chatter to our sparring match specifically so he can evaluate what I say on topics of particular interest to the conspirators.
It was two days ago that Stavros and I staged our argument for the law professor’s benefit. Plenty of time for him to order an underling to feel me out further.
I don’t need Julita’s help to figure out the best response this time. Wendos obviously wasn’t happy with the way things are being run in Silana, and most of the running is done by the king.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the scourge sorcerers started the rumor I’m about to repeat.
“Some people are saying the daimon must be upset with the royal family. That’s the only real theory I’ve heard.” I rub my hand across my mouth as if nervous about saying too much. “I don’t know what exactly they’re upset about, though.”
Torstem wouldn’t want to recruit someone foolhardy enough to shoot her mouth off without concern for the consequences. I can give the impression that I think the theory is plausible without openly supporting it.
As I throw another punch, Olari laughs. “I’ve heard that claim too. Although sometimes I think maybe they’re just tired of getting stuck with nothing but bits of cast-off food for offerings and they’re rallying for something more.”
I’m not sure the remark would sound so ominous if I didn’t see the obvious parallel to the scourge sorcerers’ bid for power. As it is, my skin crawls.
“I suppose we all can’t help wanting more than we have from time to time,” I say mildly, just as the bell for the hour starts ringing.
Stavros motions to his students, his metal prosthetic flashing in the sunlight. “You know what that means. Off to the showers, the lot of you. I won’t be held responsible for any sweat-stink in your next classes.”
I restrain myself from rolling my eyes at the tongue-in-cheek order and turn to find an unexpected gaze on me.
The woman who’s watching me from several paces away isn’t even part of the military division. Petra was one of Julita’s frequent classmates over on the leadership side. But she’s dropped in on occasional combat and strategy classes before.
My ghostly passenger informed me that she’s a distant relative of the queen’s. She definitely looks more like Queen Ishild’s side of the family than the king’s, with olive-toned skin and features more elegantly proportioned than the imposing nose and jutting chin of the Melchiorek line.
Her dark gaze flicks from me to Olari with unsettling intensity. Then she pivots on her heel with a swish of her straight black hair.
What’s Petra in a stew about? Julita mutters.
A hollow forms in the pit of my stomach. I can make a few educated guesses.
Did Petra overhear some of what I said? She’s seemed bothered in the past when people repeated the rumor about the daimon being upset with the country’s rulership.
King Konram knows I’m investigating the scourge sorcerers on his behalf, but we purposefully kept that fact quiet from everyone else in court.
Which means I have to worry about making new enemies just as much as turning my existing foes into friends.