Chapter 10
Ten
“ D o you think they’ll ever stop staring?” Kaia glanced over her shoulder, then back at Alaire. The elaborate dining room had pointed arches and wrought-iron chandeliers. Heavy, dark wooden tables carved with vines filled the room, accented with gold embellishments and black trim.
“Eventually, I’d think. But that might be too generous. Like a dog with a bone, they can only focus on what’s in front of them. I’m used to it now.” Alaire kept her eyes trained on Kaia.
She told herself it didn’t bother her, that their insults didn’t swirl through her mind at night, keeping sleep at bay. Focusing on her studies was the only thing that deserved her attention. Everything else wouldn’t—and couldn’t—matter.
“When do I get to meet the elusive Hadrian?”
“Soon! You’re going to love him. Though he is a bit temperamental around Caius.”
“I don’t blame him. He’s a dick.”
Hadrian was Kaia’s celestial, an arcstorm with the power to control storms. Alaire hadn’t yet seen one up close, and she was itching to encounter the majestic winged creatures.
“He’ll love you, though. Hadrian is an excellent judge of character.”
“What’s there not to love?” Alaire winked at her.
She reached for a fresh plum and sank her teeth into it, tongue flicking out to catch a rivulet of juice running down her lip. The fruit burst with a perfect blend of sweetness and tartness. She closed her eyes, savoring the flavors.
Some preferred chocolate, others savory treats, but Alaire had always favored fruit. It was rare for the orphanage to afford fresh produce from the market. To have it offered to her at every meal now was beyond comprehension.
Remembering where she was, she opened her mouth to tease Kaia when her body flushed.
Alaire stiffened, her prior ease evaporating.
She knew who she’d see across the room. Her body was annoyingly attuned to his presence.
They hadn’t spoken since she walked out of the Serenity Gardens—and she preferred to keep it that way.
Dawson Knox sat across the crowded dining hall, his gaze locked on hers—those intense, unsettling eyes always seemed to find her.
His fingers tightened around the fork he held, the metal bending subtly under the pressure.
The muscle in his jaw ticked. His lips curled into a snarl.
Then his gaze broke away sharply, dropping to his plate as his shoulders tensed, bracing for something unseen.
Alaire thought she caught a flicker of something else—frustration? Maybe even regret? She couldn’t be sure. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual scowl.
He clearly loathed her. The fact that he was forced to endure her presence was an obvious burden to him.
Likewise .
She threw him one more haughty look before returning her attention to her meal, pretending her body wasn’t buzzing.
There were few positives about Aeris Academy, but the food was undoubtedly the standout. Each meal offered an assortment of dishes seasoned with spectacular spices, bountiful options, and delectable treats. A far cry from the slop and Yogurt Surprise at Grimstone.
“Going up for seconds?” Kaia teased, resting her arm on the table.
She wasn’t sure when she’d stop filling her plate to the brim.
In good conscience, she didn’t want to let any of it go to waste.
She told herself she ate to keep herself strong, but part of her worried that a time would come when food would not be this accessible again.
For now, she planned to savor every bite.
“I should, but if I have one more bite, you’ll have to roll me out of here.” Alaire pushed the plate away with a groan.
“I wasn’t talking about the food.” Kaia winked.
“Ugh, gross, Kaia.” Alaire dragged a hand down her face. “When will you let that go?”
“When you tell me what happened between you two.” Kaia planted her elbows on the table, leaning forward.
“Nothing happened,” Alaire muttered, grabbing her fork and stabbing a piece of fruit with more force than necessary.
Kaia arched a brow. “ Right . Neither of you returned to class. Everyone kept sneaking looks at the door the entire time.”
“Please.” She swallowed a piece of watermelon. “The prince can do whatever he likes. I bet they all fawn over him like a newborn babe.”
“None of them seems to get under his skin the way you do.”
“Like I care.” Alaire rolled her eyes, setting the fork down.
Kaia bit her lip as her shoulders started shaking lightly.
“What?” Alaire’s hands gripped her thighs under the table.
“All I’m saying is, for someone who claims he wants nothing to do with you, his eyes never leave you when you’re in the room.”
Alaire threw her arms into the air. “Because he’s plotting ways to remove me from his precious academy. All death stares and scowls.”
“Or maybe he’s wondering how much longer he can deny what he wants.”
“Ew, Kaia. Be serious.”
Kaia’s gaze sharpened. “Come on. You can’t tell me Dawson Knox doesn’t affect you.”
Alaire groaned. “I can appreciate his exterior and general attractiveness, but his insides are as twisted and gnarled as the trees in the Woods of Whispers. It’s that condescension inside that poisons any above-average physical pleasantness—including the tattoos.”
“Sure, Alaire. Whatever you say.”
Blood pumped in her ears, and the faint scent of ivy and damp air that clung to Aeris Academy filled her nostrils. Here in the Crux, she could forget the prying eyes and hushed judgments. She could lose herself in the simple, lethal beauty of the bow.
Professor Hawthorne moved along the field’s edge—a short, stalky man with a beard that hung past his neck—scrutinizing the novices’ form and offering suggestions on stance and technique.
The Crux was an enclosed building except for the circular skylight in the center of the ceiling. One entire wall was glass, revealing a devastating view where sky and sea melted into each other.
Several targets dotted the training field. A towering structure displayed an arsenal of weapons mounted on an intricate wrought-iron lattice designed to mimic intertwined branches.
Magic was prohibited in the Crux.
Alaire ached to hold a dagger or sword, to feel the metal’s finesse as she swung the blade.
But archery required a different kind of precision and patience—one Blake had insisted she master despite her preference for steel weapons.
Daggers were easier to conceal, accurate, and convenient, but the reach and range of a bow offered advantages no blade could match.
She lifted the bow, feeling its familiar weight in her hands. She nocked an arrow, her movements smooth and practiced.
“Remember, it’s not just about hitting the target,” Professor Hawthorne said as he came up behind her to assess her stance. “It’s about concentrating on your target amid chaos. Your movements must be quick, precise, and deadly.”
“I know.” The bowstring kissed the corner of her mouth—a featherlight touch, like a whisper of silk.
Drawing the string back, she let her surroundings fade, her world narrowing to the eye of the target fifty paces away. The arrow struck its center with a thud as satisfying as any blade finding its mark.
“Well done,” Professor Hawthorne conceded, moving on to the next student.
Alaire shot again and again, each arrow piercing the bullseye.
With each release, tension unraveled from her anxious mind, given over to the singular task that demanded her full concentration and left room for nothing else.
The repetition and rhythm felt meditative.
Her body remembered its old skills, the dormant prowess of her training before Grimstone.
Keeping her body in peak physical condition was imperative. Being both female and human made her vulnerable, an easy target for someone who wouldn’t hesitate to exploit weakness. She wouldn’t let that happen again.
Blake had taught her the importance of balance between strength and control, breath and motion.
With each draw of the string, she remembered how he’d returned day after day, teaching her how to weave physical conditioning and breathwork together.
Every successful defensive and offensive maneuver originates from a strong core , he’d said.
The two go together. If you can’t control your breath, everything else falls apart .
Blake had been a fae of few words—unless it involved critiquing Alaire’s strategy or drilling her for information. Yet somewhere between bruises and breathless sparring matches, they’d formed an odd friendship.
She recalled one particularly sweltering day, long after everyone else had retreated from the strangling humidity into the orphanage’s shade. Alaire had finally worked up the courage to ask him something personal.
“How do you know how to fight so well?” Sweat dripped down her temples as she rubbed her face with the back of her forearm.
Blake had sat down against the matte-grey fence that encased the property. “Had no choice,” he said curtly, his broad frame casting her in shadow. He ran a hand through his chocolate-colored hair, eyes squinting up at the sun.
“I was disowned when it was discovered I was a null.” His voice was flat, but something in the stiffness of his posture betrayed an old wound. “I had to find other ways to make myself valuable. To fae society, I was no better than a human. Learning how to fight was how I kept myself alive.”
Alaire had wanted to comfort him, to say something to ease the ache she heard in his voice, but that wasn’t his way. So instead, she’d given him a terse nod—the response he always gave her—and said, “Are you going to finish teaching me that combo or what?”
He’d given her the tiniest grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners.
For several years, they’d held standing training sessions every other week. Blake had brought different weapons each time, determined to ensure she could wield whatever was in her hands and, ultimately, become a weapon herself.