Chapter 12 #2
“It’s fine, guys, I’ll handle it. Don’t let this ruin your results.
You guys are Veils!” I exclaim in an overly chipper tone.
“You should be celebrating.” I force a smile on my face.
I won’t let my disappointment ruin their elation.
They worked their asses off for this and deserve to finally enjoy it.
“Nori, we’re in this together. We started it together, and we’ll finish it together,” Mallory says, leaning toward me and wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “As Veils,” she finishes softly in my ear.
I give her hand an encouraging pat and unravel myself from her embrace to fist pump Finnley and hug Ambrose. The latter places a small kiss on my forehead before pulling away with one last look of turmoil, before I usher him to his first class.
Finnley and Mallory invite me to breakfast, which I kindly decline. Instead, I head to the courtyard for some fresh air.
I turn down a long hallway that leads to a side exit on the southern side of the fortress.
The air in this part of the academy is cold and damp.
More so than usual. Regardless of how many hearths are burning, this portion is in a constant state of frigidity.
The ceiling is crafted from intricate glass panes molded into a dome shape.
It’s beautiful but not a good heat conductor.
Thick vines cover the outside glass, blocking any view of the sky.
A little farther up to the right is a small set of stairs that leads out to a partial balcony covered with the same delicate-looking ceiling.
It’s anything but fragile, though. Nothing in this fortress is, regardless of how it appears.
The academy and its occupants. Poised and ready to strike at any given moment.
Regardless of the presentation, they’re deadly.
I’ve done my research on this place. Those glass panes were crafted by the most talented glass blowers in the realm. They were created in the Merch Desert and can withstand the same force or trauma as the stones that make up these walls.
The moisture in the air is causing condensation to form on the glass, and the delicate baby hairs around my neck to coil up and become loose from my braid.
I can feel them resting on my neck. Another grievance to add to the ever-growing list of annoyances from today.
Some days, I think I should cut the long waves into something more manageable, but then moments like this remind me that I would hate anything touching my neck.
If I can’t pile it high on top of my head, it’s just not happening.
It becomes something I can’t control.
And that doesn’t sit well with me.
The only thing that can soften the aggravation growing within my soul right now is solitude wrapped in fresh air. I need to get outside.
Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, filled with fire magic, lighting my way down the small passageway to the exit. I only know about this exit door because, unlike many of the rooms and passages in Kintoira, it was included in the research I conducted.
I just need to erase the chaos playing in my mind. Nothing erases the noise like isolation. Once I have a few moments to myself, I’ll figure out how to approach the headmistress.
Lugworth is not someone you’re in a hurry to chat with.
She’s vicious and cutthroat.
And that’s just to her friends.
The moment I pass through the door and into the courtyard, the dampness is erased by a slap of cold air.
It’s as uncomfortable as it is invigorating.
Slate-colored clouds move quickly overhead.
It looks like snow is well on its way. Autumn is almost behind us.
It’s only a matter of time before this place is blanketed in white.
December will be harsh. And it’s almost here.
The harmony of birds chirping in the distance causes my eyes to flutter closed. Their days begin with song. How peaceful and naive that must be. To think everything is going to be okay, at least long enough to lower your guard each and every morning to sing.
I stretch my neck, trying to alleviate the tension I’m holding in my shoulders. It’s so easy to forget why I came here in the first place. So simple to not recall what lies in wait beyond our walls. Honestly, it’s effortless to forget why I’m here altogether.
It started as a child, with me wanting to matter to someone. Anyone. To be a hero in someone’s story. As I grew, it morphed into wanting to make the impossible-to-impress Maeve Caderyn proud. I wanted to prove her wrong. Show her I had what it took.
Then Ambrose became the sun in my orbit. I realized that all I really wanted was to remain by the side of the boy I had come to love. I wanted to fight, achieve, and flourish with him. And I’d do whatever it took to make that happen.
And there were always the subtle wisps of gray I tried to bury deep beneath the surface. To pretend they weren’t there, biding their time.
Now that I’m actually here and I see what this place really is and the path I chose, I’m not so sure I made the right decision.
I’m not as skilled as the other students.
The deaths this week made me realize exactly how mortal I am.
I’m honestly not sure if any of this was selfishly for me, or just to bend myself into what I thought others expected of me?
I sit on a small stone bench facing the eastern mountain range. If the sun were visible at all, I’d have a beautiful view of it from this spot. I bring my legs up and cross them under myself. I may have overestimated my ability to adapt. I feel sorely underqualified to be here.
Like an impostor.
I have impostor syndrome.
I’m pretending to belong and have what it takes. I’ve carefully crafted myself into who I think I should be. I exhale sharply, a humorless sound halfway between a sigh and a scoff. Look how well that worked out for me.
Inconclusive.
“Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating?” a deep voice asks, shattering my moment of internal self-loathing, causing my eyes to fly open and my feet to shoot out from under me.
I look up at the imposing figure standing directly above me. The same one who challenged Ambrose in the hallway.
Kingston.
He moved so silently I didn’t hear him approach. He’s huge, I should have heard him. There’s no way he should have been able to catch me unaware.
He moves like the shadows he controls and looks just as unapproachable.
His face is a cool mask of indifference.
Dark penetrating eyes stare at me as if they want nothing more than to eviscerate my insides from where I sit.
His black fighting leathers strain against his broad frame.
He’s leaner than Ambrose but slightly taller, and just as imposing.
More so if you count the wrathful look that’s been on his face both times I’ve seen him.
“Maybe it’s because of you,” he murmurs, staring at me with those distinctive ringed eyes.
“Excuse me?” I ask, rearing back.
“Maybe I look this unapproachable because of the person in my direct vicinity,” he says slowly as if I’m an imbecile.
My nostrils flare, but I control my anger.
A fact that I’ll pat myself on the back for later.
“You approached me, not the other way around,” I snap. “And how did you know I thought you were unapproa—”
I slap a palm against my thigh, muttering a harsh curse under my breath.
He’s one of the most talented in the academy at mind control.
Ambrose’s words ring through my brain.
My eyes close as it clicks into place.
I slowly open them and glare at him.
His full lips turn up into a sinful smirk. No one should be allowed to look that wicked while smirking.
“Rude,” I say in a level tone. “If I had wanted you to know my inner thoughts, I’d have spoken them out loud.”
I stand to my full height. I still barely reach his collarbone.
“If I cared about being rude, I’d have asked instead of dipping into your shallow thoughts,” he drawls, looking down his perfectly straight nose at me. “Turns out, I don’t care.”
The longer portion of his hair on top is no longer messy from his helmet but slicked back. The sides are closely shaved, accentuating the sharp angles of his face. I bet this is how he usually wears it.
Controlled. Restrained. No loose ends.
A low laugh comes from behind him.
I sidestep slightly, trying to look past the arrogant man blocking my view.
His brother leans against a birch tree with one leg propped up. The opposite of Kingston in so many ways. His long hair hangs loose over his shoulders with war braids woven randomly throughout. He’s casually using a lethal-looking dagger to peel an apple as he eavesdrops on our conversation.
“I see it runs in the family,” I say, the words dripping with condescension, nodding toward Makon. “Rudeness, in case it went over your head.”
Kingston’s smirk widens.
“A lot of things run in my family. Giving a shit isn’t one of them.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in some dark dungeon working with demons or something?” I ask, arching a delicate brow in his direction.
“Only on Tuesdays,” he deadpans.
“How unfortunate for me that today isn’t Tuesday,” I answer, tilting my head back further to stare up at him. “What exactly does a person have to do to get some seclusion around here?”
“How about you tell me, since you intruded on ours,” he replies in an icy tone.
“I don’t see your name on this courtyard,” I rebuke, crossing my arms over my chest and looking around.
He lifts one shoulder. “Now who’s being rude?”
I scowl up at him. “I didn’t see you out here, or I’d have turned right back around and headed inside. I’d like to say this has been a pleasure, but I’m rude, not a liar,” I state. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some place to be with fewer interruptions.”
His eyes flick up and down my body, cold with detachment, before slowly moving to the side. “It seems you do.” His unnerving stare doesn’t falter. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a Liminal at the academy.”
My shoulders tighten. “A Liminal?”
He tilts his head to the side slightly. “Someone who doesn’t really fit here nor there,” he answers cryptically, as his fingers trail along the hilt of the dagger hanging at his waist.
A short, sharp laugh comes from the side. “I have somewhere she’d fit,” Makon suggests, pointing his chin in my direction.
Ugh. Gross.
Kingston slowly turns his head toward his brother, and whatever Makon sees causes him to laugh under his breath darkly, before taking a big bite out of his apple.
He doesn’t say anything else, though.
“What are you talking about?” I ask Kingston, bringing the discussion back.
A smile, void of any warmth, ghosts over his lips. “Not a Veil but not quite a Noctryn either. Where does that leave you, Caderyn?” His eyes darken, gleaming with something I can’t quite put my finger on. “Or perhaps you’re looking at it all wrong. Maybe you’re both.”
I’ve heard a lot of crazy things in my short life, but this is top-tier.
You can’t be Noctryn and Veil.
It’s not possible to be good and evil. Light and dark. That’s like saying the sun is part moon and vice versa.
Impossible.
And how does he even know I didn’t place? He wasn’t in the halls this morning. Not that I was looking for him or anything.
“Are you snooping on me?” I ask incredulously.
He gives me a slow, deliberate blink. “Don’t flatter yourself.
Every upperclassman will be looking at that list today.
We want to know who we’ll be training with over the next few years and who we’ll be fighting beside afterward,” he says, leaning in slightly, voice dropping low.
“That includes all within Salaryan’s combat force. Not just you,” he adds.
My eyes go from him to Makon and back again.
“Well, it won’t be me by your side. I can guarantee that,” I say, a small, slightly hysterical laugh breaking free. “There’s just been a mistake, that’s all. I’m a Veil, through and through.”
“Are you, though?” he asks with a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
I’m not sure what comes over me, possibly fear, probably anger. I shove him in the chest with everything I have. He doesn’t move an inch.
Of course, he doesn’t move.
“I am not a Noctryn! I’m not like you or him,” I shout, looking at him while pointing at his brother.
His face remains cold and detached, which makes me feel like I’m the crazy one here.
“I have a moral compass. There are lines that I refuse to cross to accomplish my objectives.”
“I think you’re wrong. I think that you are a little darker than you’d like to be.
And it scares you.” His lip curls. “The academy picked up on it, and you’re now in panic mode.
Perhaps you’re a bit more heathen than you thought, after all,” he says coldly, holding the intense eye contact just a little too long, with that damn smug smirk in place.
“Want to know what I think? I think you are an asshole!” I shout, my voice rising despite doing my absolute best to maintain my composure.
He shrugs. “That, among other things,” he replies with calm indifference. His expression is unreadable. He has perfected the mask of apathy, and it’s chilling.
I give him a curt nod. I’m done here. “Well, like I said, I have places to be.”
“As do we,” Makon answers, strolling over as he takes another big bite out of his apple. His eyes travel over me, assessing before turning to Kingston. “You ready?”
“Beyond,” Kingston answers dryly.
Makon chucks the core onto the gravel.
Animal.
“Should have stayed off his radar, Norissa,” he says under his breath as he walks past me and through the gate to the training field.
Kingston’s gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before he tips his head slightly, the gesture more of a mocking farewell than an actual one. “Until next time, Heathen,” he says, his lips curling into a half smile before he turns on his heel and walks away.
I stand there for a moment longer, staring after them.
Liminal.
Why have I never heard of this before?
I gather my wits, but mostly my courage, and head inside to find the headmistress’s office and straighten this mess out.
It’s time to get some answers.