Chapter 30
Thirty
Ivy
“You can have a bit of a break now,” Stavros says to me as we step into his quarters. “The next class today isn’t until the fifth bell.”
“And I have so many wonderful things to do with my free time.” I roll my shoulders, which have gotten a little stiff from standing at attention during his lecture, and move into my now-automatic circuit of the room.
I can’t even hope that I’ll run into Casimir or Alek someplace we could talk a little. They’ve both been away from the college pursuing whatever leads they think might get us closer to exposing the scourge sorcerers’ plans.
I haven’t been able to contribute to that goal at all in the past few days. Since my trial with Benedikt, my palm has stayed blank. There hasn’t been so much as a peep from the conspirators.
Maybe they’re simply being cautious, giving me plenty of time to reveal ulterior motives before they call on me again. Or maybe they’ve decided keeping me around is too big a risk, even if the gods appeared to favor me over Benedikt.
Stavros’s gaze follows me around the room with a weight of concern that itches at me. He’s probably wondering whether he made the right choice in backing me if I’m going to be useless to the cause now.
His voice comes out dry but mild. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of company to occupy you again when—”
A quiver of magic races through my nerves from somewhere along the wall. I jerk my hand up to cut off Stavros’s remark.
His mouth snaps shut, his brow furrowing. I hold still by the side table I was passing and then carefully crouch down so I can peer beneath it.
The trace of magical energy guides my gaze. It still takes me a moment to spot the fat brown beetle hiding between one of the table’s legs and the baseboard.
Ugh, Julita murmurs. That’s an unwelcome sight.
The impression of sorcery is definitely coming from the bug. And what an appropriate creature for the members of the entomology club to have sculpted.
Frowning, I study it. The beetle stays where it is, unmoving. Nothing about the energy leaking off it shifts.
We still don’t know what purpose the conspirators have for the creatures they’ve been creating out of clay. My riven soul might react to magic in the air, but I can’t identify the specifics of what’s been cast.
Julita lets out a huff. What are you waiting for? Squash the vermin.
My hand balls. I’d very much like to smash the bug out of existence. But beneath my first instinct, another idea is tickling up through my thoughts.
If the conspirators are using their creations to spy on people somehow… we could use that fact against them. Offer them more proof that they should trust that my attitudes align with theirs.
It’s worth a shot.
Stavros can obviously tell that I’ve discovered something, and he knows what I was looking for. He stands silently as I back away from the beetle.
I make a vague gesture that I hope he can understand is encouragement to play along. “I don’t want to hear any more about that. How can it not bother you having the royal guards swarming the college day and night?”
The former general’s eyebrow ticks upward, but he gamely matches the irritation in my tone. “They’re keeping us safe.”
I snort. “Keeping us safe or keeping us within their tight restrictions? The daimon were trying to tell us something isn’t right, and they’ve silenced them. It’s not like we can say anything for ourselves without risking getting arrested.”
“I don’t think anyone wants to hear the kinds of things you’ve been hinting at,” Stavros replies, letting his voice darken. “Least of all me. Don’t shame your family by talking like a traitor.”
“Isn’t it more traitorous not to speak up when something’s wrong with the world?”
He scowls at me, getting right into character. “I don’t want to hear another word. If I have to drag you to the guards to make sure you’re not doing anything more than spouting off senseless rhetoric—”
I stomp toward the door. “Oh, quit acting like you’ve got the moral high ground here. I’m sure I can find better company than you.”
As I grasp the doorknob, I catch his gaze. He offers a slight nod to indicate we’re still good, that he knows it was all a pretense.
A pretense I need to follow through with. I stride out into the hall and hesitate there, smoothing my hands down my skirt.
I don’t know if our mock argument accomplished anything at all. The beetle could be in Stavros’s room for any number of other reasons, not picking up on what we say at all.
At least I tried.
I’ll have to make sure it’s gone when I get back. Or maybe Stavros will contrive to discover it before then and do the squashing for me.
The peal of the palace bell rings through the Domi’s walls, and I find myself remembering another afternoon when I was looking for ways to investigate. My pulse kicks up a notch with a spark of inspiration.
I set off toward the stairwell with renewed determination. No one else is around, so I risk a soft murmur. “Today would be a hunt day, wouldn’t it?”
Julita shifts. I believe so. You’ll be able to tell quickly at the stables. But didn’t you hate the last time you went?
I shrug. “I can tolerate the embarrassment if it serves a purpose. I seem to remember a couple of the bug club members participated before…”
Oh! Yes, you’re right. Were they from the group Alek thinks is part of the conspiracy?
I think back to the scholar’s sketches of the members he considered most suspicious. “One of them was for sure. And even if they don’t join the hunt this time, word might get around.”
I need to do something to feel like I’m moving our mission along. Who knows what the conspirators have been planning while I wait for them to reach out to me again?
Julita goes quiet as I descend the stairs. I’ve just reached the ground floor when she speaks up again, in a wistful tone. I wonder how Alek is getting on with his clay research.
The hint of melancholy to the comment draws me up short with a prick of guilt in my gut.
We haven’t talked about how close my relationship with both Alek and Casimir has gotten or about her mournful complaint when she returned to find us all in bed together the other day. I’ve been waiting to see if she’ll broach the subject in her own time… but she’s pretended as if it never happened.
Instead of heading straight to the stables, I take a meandering route that leaves me in the courtyard apart from the other roving students. There, I stop to pluck a flower that’s sprouted between the blades of grass.
When I hold it to my nose as if to smell it, my hand hides the movement of my mouth. “Julita, if I’m handling anything in a way that upsets you—if it’s uncomfortable for you to have to be here with me when I’m with Alek or Casimir—”
It’s fine, Julita breaks in, too brusquely for me to believe her. I can pull away—I told you. They want you; you want them—it’s good.
I swallow thickly. “I’m sure they still remember you, think about you.”
Not while they’re doing that with you. And they shouldn’t be. I never meant that much to them, and I know it, so there’s nothing more to say.
I don’t think that’s all she meant with her remark about them not seeing her anymore. It’s true that none of the men have referred to Julita inside me as much as they used to—and Alek vehemently rejected her attempt to talk to him directly.
“We’re friends, right?” I say, giving it one more try. “And friends should be able to talk about—”
There’s nothing to talk about, Julita insists. Everything is good. You’d better hurry up, or you’ll miss the start of the hunt. Oh, gods smite us, there’s that pushy guard again.
I think she’s only attempting to change the subject until I shift my attention beyond the flower and realize the ridiculously handsome guard who badgered me while stargazing is marching straight toward me with a stern expression.
Although even when he’s making a face like he’s got a stick up his ass, those blue-green eyes are fucking breathtaking.
I bet the rest of the Crown’s Watch hates this guy.
He comes to a stop a few paces away from me and tips his head toward me. “What are you doing wandering around over here?”
I twirl the wildflower between my fingers. “Can’t a lady stop to enjoy the flowers?”
He knits his brow at me beneath his chocolate-brown curls, as if he’s trying to figure out how flower-picking could be a questionable act. The tingle of magic wafting off him reminds me to be wary of his unknown gift.
Then he asks the last question I’d have expected. “Are you all right?”
I blink at him and scramble for words. “Quite. Even better now that my nose has enjoyed this lovely scent. But now I have places to be.”
I hustle on toward the stable, willing him to return to his post.
Thankfully, I haven’t missed the hunt. Pampered nobles aren’t known for their sense of urgency.
A couple dozen students are milling around the yard outside the stable, most already mounted but a few not even having claimed horses yet. It looks like the hunt master’s assistant has only just started handing out bows.
I spot several familiar faces in the bunch: my former bully Anya and a couple of her friends, my rival Romild taking a bow into her arms like it’s an extra limb, Petra the distant royal off to the side with her usual reserved distance—and not one but two faces I recognize from Alek’s profiles and my own investigations of the entomology club.
Restraining a smile of relief, I hustle into the stable to get my steed.
Toast huffs at the sight of me as if admonishing me for neglecting him. I rub his nose as I lead him out. “Who else would give you a chance at all, huh? You’d better behave, or maybe I’ll pick a new favorite horse.”
The temperamental stallion stomps a hoof, but then he walks out behind me without more than a brief shake of his reins.
As I mount him, Anya arches her eyebrows at me. “Really? You’re riding that beast again?”
I aim a wry grin at her. “We’ve formed an understanding, and now we get along just fine. Thank you for introducing me to him.”
The haughty noblewoman looks as if she’s bitten back some caustic comment, probably remembering the understanding the two of us reached that ensures Stavros doesn’t have her arrested.
Petra catches my eye briefly with a flicker of a smile I pretend I don’t notice. She did suggest that I join another of these hunts, didn’t she? Does she figure I’m here to kindle a friendship with her?
I’d imagine it’s best if the probable conspirators in our midst don’t get the impression I’m cozy with any member of the royal family, no matter how minor.
I accept the bow and the sheath of arrows the assistant offers me and wield them with a little more skill than the first time. With a subtle twitch of the reins, I send Toast ambling away from Petra, closer to the bug club members so they’ll have a clear view.
If I really had been touched by the gods in my stand-off with Benedikt, I’d be startled by the unexpected talent I seemed to have gained. I might hope my improved skill was permanent.
I stroke my fingers along the wooden curve of the bow and adjust my position in the saddle, giving my best impression of a noblewoman eager to enjoy her newfound ability.
I can tell before the hunt master even directs us into the woods that I’m going to be clumsy as ever with the arrows. If I could throw knives at the conjured targets that appear along the forest path, then I’d be showing up the spoiled elites around me.
Instead, I let my face fall with disappointment more and more at every arrow that misses its mark. Partway through the trek, I pause and stare down at my hands as if I don’t understand how they could be failing me now.
Great God help me, let the scourge sorcerers be watching my performance. Let them be thinking about how well the gods must have guided me the other day for me to have bested Benedikt then, how much faith they must have in me.
Otherwise I’ve acted like an idiot for nothing.
I’ve just prodded Toast back to a trot when Petra draws up beside me. She glances sideways with a purse of her lips. “Have you been getting on well, Ivy?”
I force a chuckle and waggle my bow. “It doesn’t seem to be getting on with me.”
She shakes her head. “No, I mean… in general.”
A trickle of uneasiness winds through my stomach. What is it with people thinking I’m not okay? First that guard, now a royal niece-twice-removed or whatever exactly Petra is.
Do I look like I’m in some kind of trouble?
As I debate how to answer, I notice one of the bug club members has turned her head our way. My pulse stutters.
If they get the impression that I really am friends with Petra, any point I’ve managed to make with my disastrous archery performance won’t matter at all.
I lift my chin as if I’m offended that she asked. “I’m sure you have better things to do than worry about my well-being.”
Before she can respond, I apply my heels to Toast’s sides. He breaks into a canter.
Now I have to hope that Petra isn’t so offended she complains about me to the king. This is a nice pickle I’ve found myself in.
Not for the first time, I miss the simplicity of ripping off corrupt merchants and dropping coins on window ledges. At least as the Hand of Kosmel, I always knew exactly where I stood, exactly what needed doing.
I manage to stay ahead of Petra for the rest of the hunt. I also manage to nick the edge of one target, to Julita’s excited cheer as if I hit it dead center. Which I guess with my aptitude is about the equivalent.
I keep up my show of being disgruntled with my pitiable skills while I brush Toast down and head back to the college buildings, however much good it’s doing. My gut feels heavy.
How much longer will I have to keep up this whole charade?
The question nags at me through Stavros’s afternoon class in the field, through a lonely supper in the dining hall, through a quick wash in one of the shared bathing rooms that aren’t half as fancy as those in the companionship division.
Then, as I’m toweling myself off, a prickle spreads across my left palm.
I jerk my hand around. The glowing words crawl across my skin.
Midnight. Same place. Come alone.
I stare at my palm for a few seconds longer after the message fades away, waiting for relief to wash over me. All that rises up is a vague sense of trepidation.
I got what I was looking for. But I also wish I could be doing anything other than walking into the woods at midnight tonight.