Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
GRAY
“Where are we going, exactly?” Gray asks, watching Kiran as he laces his black tunic.
“To a village that lies just north of Dead Man’s Cove. Ninmere. We’ve received reports of a band of rogue wielders terrorizing residents of the town.”
“And they’re not Abdites?”
“Nope. Just your average group of criminals who use their magic for the wrong reasons.”
Gray folds his arms, studying Kiran. “And you’ve taken a special interest in them because…?”
Kiran sighs, his smirk faltering. “I received a tip surrounding a brewing uprising not long ago, and I have been investigating the claim ever since. If what I’ve gathered thus far is to be trusted, the leader of this group might hold a big piece of the puzzle.”
Gray feels his brows wrinkling at the information. “An uprising? What are they claiming to fight against?”
“I don’t know. That is precisely the answer I am hoping to find out today.
” He finishes his tie enclosure before turning to face Gray.
“Normally, you’d be forbidden from accompanying me on such a task, but given the new rules Bathara is adhering to, you can join my team without any resistance. Delightful, isn’t it?”
“Unimaginably so,” Gray jokes.
Over the passing months, he and Kiran have become close, spending time together training, testing how far he can push his illusionary magic and theorizing with Draven locations Lyra may be.
Gray and Draven have also grown to have an understanding, ever since their time together in the greenhouse. They’re friendly, even.
Together, they’ve deduced Lyra must be located somewhere on Erandor’s southern border or within the Anatolè Kingdom’s territory, based on her description of the sun.
They ruled out the Arid Wastelands due to its harsh, barren climate making it largely uninhabitable, and they’ve now also removed Rivara from their search, not knowing of a single place within the kingdom where the sun shines red.
So when Gray isn’t attending his classes or mandatory training sessions outside of his private ones—and when Kiran and Draven aren’t attending to their obligations as presiding captains—they are normally together, conspiring ways to best search their targeted areas and bring Lyra home.
He even joined Kiran and Draven for a late night drink recently.
Draven had just returned from another search—this time toward the southeastern border, near the port city of Halfin—and Gray wanted to hear his report.
They had already opened a bottle by the time he arrived, and so the expected brief conversation turned into a nearly all night one.
Gray’s resulting hangover was brutal, and he soon learned Draven and Kiran are not to be underestimated when it comes to holding their drink.
Especially not when Draven is drinking away his frustrations.
Kiran rests a firm hand on Gray’s shoulder, his expression shifted.
“I will only be saying this to you, Nightenjoy. This mission is layered. And if we succeed and I am able to interrogate the rogue wielders’ leader, I may not only glean more insight on the growing uprising, but perhaps information surrounding Lyra as well.
While I can’t be certain, the man is deeply connected to the skull trade, rumored to be overflowing with powerful secrets.
” He pauses, eyes hardening. “We cannot fail. I swore to Draven we wouldn’t. ”
Gray holds his stare. “Then we won’t.”
“Good.” Kiran slides his hand from his shoulder.
Gray asks, “Why isn’t Draven coming with us?”
“He can’t,” Kiran says through a sigh. “He’s been dispatched with members of his own aggregate elsewhere.”
Gray nods. “And who else from Castaria will be accompanying us?”
Kiran doesn’t answer, instead slipping back into his usual demeanor, offering him only a mischievous smirk.
It tells Gray two things simultaneously.
The first is that he probably asked Marcella to join them—a fact which both excites and unnerves Gray, seeing as the more time they spend together, the more Gray is unsure of how to act.
He’s never been one to consider himself shy with girls.
In fact, he’s overall been quite bold in his life when it comes to someone he has taken interest in.
But with Marcella, it’s different. Complicated—even if his feelings, in a sense, are so simple.
She is progressing through her stages of grief.
Lyra is still missing. And the foundation of Bathara is trembling beneath their very feet as the academy attempts to rebuild.
So Gray continues lying to himself, ignoring the flutters of butterfly wings in his stomach when she’s near and the acceleration of his pulse when he gazes into Marcella’s glittering cobalt eyes.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Kiran’s chamber door swings open, and Marcella steps through the threshold.
She is dressed in a deep-blue top that laces at her throat and gray pants that flare just slightly around her thighs, tapering at the ankles.
Her mane of copper hair is twisted back into a braid, revealing the full depth of her features.
Gray’s eyes trail over her, noting every freckle, line, and tiny mark composing her face. His eyes snag on the slope of her lips, but he catches himself and quickly tugs them away—only to drown in the most beautiful sea of blue he’s ever seen.
Marcella watches him, an arch in her brow. “What?” she teases. “Surprised Kiran asked me to tag along or something?”
Gray noticed long ago Marcella tends to deflect with humor when she feels vulnerable or judged. Though, why she would feel such a thing right now with him, he can’t be certain.
Gray folds his arms over his chest, a smile lifting his lips. “Not in the slightest.”
“Good.”
Kiran bounces his gaze between the two of them. He clears his throat. “I hear atop of your impressive skills with magic, you are also a skilled tracker.”
Marcella plops herself down in a lounging chair. “I am.”
“Castles and estates aren’t the only places where one can learn things,” Gray chimes in, winking at Marcella.
Her eyes crinkle at the corners as a helpless grin sweeps over her lips.
The sight makes Gray’s heart squeeze tight in his chest, and for a heartbeat, as their eyes remain gridlocked, he forgets where they are. That they aren’t alone.
Marcella clears her throat, pulling her gaze away from him. “Will anyone else from Castaria be joining us?”
Kiran cocks his head, mocking a hollow sort of consideration. “Not exactly.”
Right on cue, a knock sounds at the door.
“It’s open,” Kiran practically sings.
The latch clicks and the hinges squeak as the wood creaks open. Gray realizes then he was correct on the second thing he surmised from Kiran’s smirk a moment ago: expect something entirely unexpected.
Nuri, Klytis, and the Nullifier—now known to be Draven’s little sister—step through the threshold.
Gray tugs at his brows as he glances at Kiran, confused why members of other aggregates are here, then strolls over and outstretches his arm to Klytis.
He beams as he embraces Gray, clasping his hand to Gray’s outstretched forearm.
“It’s good to finally get to you see,” Gray says through a small bout of laughter.
Klytis chuckles. “It’s almost cruel, isn’t it? Being at the academy together but in separate aggregates with no aligning classes.”
Gray snorts his disdain for that. “We have so much to catch up on.”
Klytis’s expression shifts, and though his smile remains on his lips, there is now a solemnness to it. “Indeed, we do.”
They drop their arms back down to their sides, and Gray glances at the Nullifier, who is leaning against the wall on the far side of the room, her knee bent as her booted foot is propped up behind her.
She is dressed in all black clothing, matching the dark kohl lining her eyes and the color of her half-drawn hair.
He walks over to her and outstretches his hand. “Gray,” he offers.
“Rhea.” There is a rough quality to her tone, though not exactly in the sound itself. She places her palm in Gray’s, and they offer each other a quick shake. When finished, she folds her arms over her chest, a bored expression punctuating her features once more.
Gray studies her for a heartbeat longer, surprised to find someone who has mastered the art of stoicism as well as Draven. Then again, he supposes he is looking at the product of being raised in House Dalmar all the same.
He turns on his heels and finds Nuri and Marcella already engaged in hushed conversation. He strides to them next, inclining his head. “Nuri,” he says.
“Gray Nightenjoy,” she replies with a level of diplomacy that seems practiced, her Anatolian accent heavy as ever on her tongue.
He forces a civil smile to his lips. That sun pendant he noticed on her neck the first time they met is conveniently gone.
Instead, it is replaced with a nondescript gold chain which matches the quality of the gold piercings lining her ears and ringing around her left nostril.
Gray does a quick scan for any other notable jewelry or clothes, but there’s nothing.
He finds that deeply interesting.
“Is something the matter?” she asks, not taking her eyes off him.
“Not in the slightest,” he answers, his tone soft and pleasant. “I was just thinking how grateful I am to have you as our healer again. You were pivotal in our success during the second test of the entrance exam, so it brings me comfort knowing you’ll be accompanying us.”
Marcella snorts and props her elbow on the arm of the chair, cupping her chin in her palm. “Get a room,” she mutters tauntingly.
Nuri huffs an amused laugh. “Kind of you to say.”