CHAPTER THREE
You Can’t Hold Back True Love
Pytr
I was right, of course. My friends are already in the tavern. I hear Syrus’s laugh as soon as I enter the door, and I follow it through the crowds of elegantly dressed patrons.
And there they are, three of the four Elites of the Towers, sitting like minor kings at one of the massive circular tables in the back and surrounded by several of the tavern’s scantily clad female entertainers.
One of the ladies brushes my arm as I sit down.
I turn away, cheeks burning, as the rest of them laugh.
“We were afraid you got lost,” Syrus says as he pours me a glass of something that looks expensive.
“No,” I reply, glancing at the door.
I’m half worried that the crazy bastard might try to follow me in, although I think the guards at the door would stop him. Hells, they would have stopped me too, if I wasn’t wearing these clothes Syrus somehow had delivered to my room.
He’s one of the sons of the family that controls this city, Syrus, and his family is so rich that I cannot possibly imagine why he would want any other kind of magic.
He says his name, and all the doors in Silver City open for him.
Why would he give two shits about being able to light something on fire without using a match?
“What happened to you?” Reznyk asks.
He’s sitting next to Syrus, holding a glass of wine like it’s a weapon, and watching me with those disturbing, dark eyes. Reznyk always looks like a wild animal testing the limits of its cage, even here, wearing silk and surrounded by elegance.
I shake my head. “Later,” I tell him.
Aveus cocks an eyebrow at me but doesn’t say anything.
My friends won’t push the issue, thank the gods.
Some strange part of my mind whispers that this must be what it’s like to actually have people in your life that you can call friends.
I wonder if the feeling is as strange for Syrus, Reznyk, and Aveus as it is for me.
Gods, that’s absurd. The three of them are so confident, fearlessly navigating the streets of Silver City or accepting whatever horrible challenge the Exemplars put in front of us. I wince; the part of my back that Exemplar Fyrris used to test his painful new technique still stings.
Aveus clears his throat, then raises his glass. Lantern light shines off the dark liquid inside.
“My dear fellow Elites,” Aveus says, in a voice that belongs on stage, “I would like to propose a toast.”
Syrus, Reznyk, and I cheer. Aveus waves his hand elaborately, then comes to his feet.
“To another week,” he announces. “Of surviving.”
We all cheer. Aveus drains his glass, then sits back down. I bring my glass to my lips. This time, I manage to take a sip of the wine without wincing. I still haven’t exactly gotten the taste for it, but I’m getting better at faking it.
“And I have another toast,” Syrus says, as he reaches across the table to refill our glasses. He raises his glass, then looks at the three of us like we’re about to conspire to murder a king. “I got her name,” he announces.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Aveus groans.
Reznyk shakes his head. Syrus looks smug as hell.
“The Novice?” I ask. “The one you like?”
Syrus nods. “It’s Veloria,” he says. “Veloria Averyaseth. Isn’t that a sexy name?”
Reznyk snorts and sinks back in his chair. Aveus makes a face like he’s just licked something bitter.
“We’re not supposed to talk to the Novices,” I say, as if the rules of the Towers had any bearing on Syrus Maganti.
“I guess technically, she doesn’t need to do much talking if you’re just going to flip up her robes and—” Aveus begins, before the three of us cut him off with groans and protests.
Syrus finishes his wine, then stares off into the distance with a strange half-smile on his lips.
“I’m going to bring her here,” Syrus announces. “I bet she’d like this place. Veloria.”
“You are a complete idiot,” Aveus replies. He turns to me. “Come on, Pytr. You’re all wise in the ways of love. Can you tell Syrus he’s full of shit?”
I sputter and just barely keep from spraying wine across the table.
“Wise in the what?” I manage to stammer.
Aveus waves his hand again, and I can’t help but think of a performer on a fair day stage. Even his magic is flashy and dramatic. Illusions.
“What I mean is,” Aveus says, “you’re an experienced gentleman. Wise in the ways of women.”
At that, even Reznyk laughs. I grin at my three friends. Aveus is full of shit, and they all know it. They know more about the city than I do, and I’d bet all the money I’ve saved over the years that they’ve all had more sexual experiences than me.
But I have them beat on exactly one count. I’m married, and the three of them seem to find that endlessly fascinating.
“I think Syrus should go for it,” I say. “I mean, you can’t hold back true love.”
Reznyk and Aveus explode with laughter at this, and I take another sip of what is probably good wine.
“Well, thank you for the support,” Syrus says. “It’s nice to have at least one friend who backs you up.”
Aveus rolls his eyes.
“Hell,” I add, “you’ve already broken so many rules. What’s a few more?”
“Exactly,” Syrus replies.
“What’s the worst they could do?” Reznyk adds, in his low, gravely voice.
For a moment, we all fall silent. He meant it as a joke, I’m sure, but still, the room is suddenly colder.
We’ve all been punished by the Exemplars, and sometimes it’s hard to know if the increasingly strange lessons we’re getting are meant as teaching or as some new, insane type of punishment.
Syrus has used his healing magic more in our quarters at night than he has in the Exemplar’s practice sessions.
But the pain and the punishments aren’t the worst of it. Not by a long shot.
No, the worst part of being an Elite at the Towers is the part they didn’t tell me until after the gate swung shut behind me. That’s when I began to slowly realize the truth.
No one leaves the Towers.