Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Expectations are high at the academy.
I’ve known that since before I enrolled. Yet to know it and to witness it are two different things.
Many are still nursing various injuries from the Blood Initiation Ceremony. Some from their first-year peers and others from the upperclassmen maintaining order. Even with the bodily damage and mental exhaustion, we’re expected to attend our classes for the day.
First-years still have powers emerging at inconvenient times, which explains the multitude of upperclassmen pulled from their own classes to guard the hallways and lecture halls alike.
Their expressions are stony and uncompromising.
I still haven’t figured out if they want us to succeed and join their ranks or fail so they can move on with their academic year without having to hover over us.
The chair legs wobble as I take my seat in another mixed class of both light and dark magic.
This class is the one I look forward to the most. The one I know I’ll excel at.
It won’t matter if I’m stuck between two worlds in this room.
What’s taught in this class has already been.
The lessons learned over and over again, so they don’t repeat themselves.
History.
The professor of the class walks in holding a stack of books balanced precariously under her chin. With the ease of someone who’s done it a hundred times, she sets them on her desk without any falling from their designated place and moves over to the teaching podium.
She screams worn elegance. Unlike the other professors here, her robes have seen better days.
Almost as if she couldn’t be bothered to replace them.
It doesn’t seem to faze her though, as she regally pushes her slim-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose.
It also doesn’t escape my notice that her fingertips are ink-stained.
More than likely from poring over pages of print in the archives.
Her pale skin is a stark contrast to the pitch-black hair, bluntly resting on her shoulders.
It’s as if she has the pallor of something once buried.
A mysterious aura surrounds her like a signature perfume.
I squeeze my quill and sit forward.
Every student in here is staring at her with rapt attention. I don’t know anyone in here except Makon, and I made a point to sit as far from him as possible. I quickly jot down the professor’s name inside my textbook as she introduces herself.
Professor Hawkins.
She looks around the class before continuing.
“As you are all aware, yesterday was intense,” she says in a soft but weighted tone.
Agreement echoes across the rows. “I know some of you are still recovering and coming to terms with the many changes happening within your bodies.” She glances over the ridge of her glasses as the faces stare back at her.
“As I’m sure some of you have figured out, your birth blockers were removed once you drank from the chalices.
Powers that should have gradually manifested over the past decade erupted full force within minutes.
This is not only unnatural but beyond excruciating. For that, I apologize.”
I put the pieces together while lying in bed last night. My body felt like it was collapsing in on itself, but my mind slowly became clearer as the effects of the drink wore off.
Our birth blockers are gone. Ripped from somewhere they never should have been. We now have full access to the powers we were assigned at birth, powers that should have begun to mature when we hit puberty. I should feel ecstatic. But I don’t. I’m filled with trepidation and unease.
I’m a Liminal, and thus far, nothing has emerged. Not even a whisper of magic. It’s not unheard of to have a slight delay, but there isn’t much information on Liminals. What if I’m broken and have nothing to offer?
“How long until we have control over them?” a round-faced first-year asks from the front.
“That depends entirely on you,” Professor Hawkins responds while pulling out a large text from under her podium.
The book is so heavy that you can hear her exerted breathing while lifting it.
It falls with a resounding thud against the podium as she wipes her hands on the front of her thin robes. Murmurs break out across the rows.
A hand shoots up in the air. “Are we going to be guarded like criminals until we can control them?” a girl with a tattoo covering half of her face asks.
“Possibly. That is entirely up to you as well.”
The professor talks in riddles. Answering but not divulging.
I want so badly to ask about those of us who are still waiting. I don’t, though. Not yet. I don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to myself.
As if on cue, a book catches on fire a few rows down.
The surprised first-year jumps back from his chair, desperately trying to fan it with his hands.
The only thing he accomplishes is adding to its intensity.
A Noctryn general, seated a few seats down from him, waves his hand without looking up from his text and diminishes the flames with his shadows.
The shaken Veil hesitantly retakes his seat, throwing cautious looks between his ruined text and the general, who’s paying him no mind.
“Alright, everyone. Books out. Those who have not burned them, please flip to chapter one. We are going to start at the beginning,” the professor says while opening her own text.
The first-year continues to stare at his burned text.
Her voice washes over the room as she discusses the history of Salaryan and the introduction of Kintoira Academy.
I know most of everything she’s reading out loud by heart, but still cling to it like a well-missed friend.
We’ve been spoon-fed the rich history of this realm since we could walk.
I’ve devoured everything taught with insatiable hunger.
I think, had I not chosen this path, I would have become a librarian or a historian. Instead of battlefields and weapons, it would have been quiet halls and dust-covered tomes.
Another first-year cries out in pain as his hands start to twitch with small bursts of shadows erupting.
He looks around the room in panic as if someone can make it go away.
Makon rolls his eyes in the seat next to him and whispers something under his breath while staring at the young man in clear agitation.
One minute, the boy is in near hysterics, and the next, he’s slumped over in his seat, unconscious.
I suck in a deep breath.
That easy. He rendered a man useless that easy.
His dark eyes meet mine from where he’s sitting. He lifts a brow and blows me a kiss.
On anyone else, it would appear harmless, but between his lethal abilities and the wild appearance of war braids paired with his wicked facial scar, it comes across as menacing.
I force my gaze back down to my text.
I refuse to be baited.
Even if it was impressive as hell. I’ll never admit that, though.
There aren’t any more magical eruptions for the remainder of the class.
Professor Hawkins thoroughly goes over every detail of the early years in the realm and the academy.
When she closes her text and dismisses us, I quickly gather up my belongings and shove them in my pack.
I have exactly five minutes to make it to my last class, and it’s two floors up.
A looming shadow falls over my shoulder.
I should’ve known I couldn’t escape without having to acknowledge his presence. I press my lips into a thin, tight line and peer up at him beneath my scowl.
“You’re either avoiding me because my good looks intimidate you or because you still think you’re not one of us,” he says. “Let me guess, you still think you’re a Veil.”
Every syllable lands like a well-aimed smirk.
I stand to my full height and throw my pack over my shoulder. I don’t have time for this. Craning my neck back, I look up to meet his eyes. “I am a Veil,” I retort.
“Only you’re not,” he replies simply. I can hear the satisfaction in his voice. It’s dripping with it.
“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” a feminine voice quips from behind him.
His shoulders stiffen at the intrusion. He draws a hand across his mouth before slowly turning toward the newcomer.
A silver-haired woman with a heart-shaped face and violet eyes stares back at him with a look that reeks of disdain.
To say she’s breathtaking would be criminally understated.
To imply she is unimpressed with him would be woefully downplayed.
I don’t personally know her. I’ve seen her a few times in passing and at meals, but she was typically by Yaretta’s side. I made sure to keep my distance. I certainly didn’t expect her to speak up on my behalf.
Makon circles her as a predator might when sizing up his prey. His thumb traces over his bottom lip as if he’s contemplating all the ways to devour her, and none of them in the good way. “The thing is, I don’t see anyone around here my size,” he says in a condescending tone.
She scoffs under her breath, clearly unimpressed. “Then perhaps you should move along and look elsewhere.” She raises a delicate brow at him and somehow looks down her nose at the same time. It’s quite a feat, considering he’s easily half a foot taller than she is.
“Perhaps you should stay out of conversations you’re not invited into,” he counters, his voice tight with annoyance.
I’d love to stay and see this play out, but I’m already late to class.
I shuffle backward, discreetly working my way toward the door.
I’m banking on the fact they’re too wrapped up in their battle of wills to miss me.
I hate leaving her in this predicament, but something tells me she can handle her own.
“What’s your name, first-year?” he demands.
She chuckles softly. “I didn’t hear you say please,” she all but coos in his direction. Her lips are pulled into a contemptuous smirk aimed to antagonize and rile.
The provocateur might have met his match.