Chapter Twenty-Six
D raven walks with me down the stairs.
His eyes scan the area before sliding back to me.
“Your Nightenjoy companion,” he whispers, his tone devoid of leisure.
“You’ll need his instruction to pass this first test. Or at least someone with his knowledge.
Allow him to help you.” And then, just like that, he recedes into the shadows, his final words a fading echo. “Good luck.”
I follow the growing noises to escape the maze of corridors.
My heart pounds in my chest, both with anticipation and nervousness.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take me long to find the crowd shuffling out.
It does, however, take me a bit longer to go against the crowd and return to my chambers to change out of my sleeping attire and into the clothes Bathara provided us.
My cheeks burned the moment I realized the whole exchange with Draven had transpired while I was in sleepwear.
I halt in my tracks when I creak the door open and find Marcella standing in the middle of the room, her hands braced on her hips. “Are late night strolls a frequent habit of yours?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I mumble as I rummage around, peeling the clothes from my body and dressing myself in the new ones. As subtly as I can, I tuck the journal underneath my pillow.
“So you think exploring an ancient magical academy in the middle of the night was a good idea?”
My lips kick up. “I never said I thought it was a good idea. ”
Marcella huffs a dry laugh. “Come on,” she chides with a shake of her head. “Hurry up. You’re going to make us late.”
My fingers move quickly, twisting my hair into a sleek braid, and then I shove my feet into a pair of combat boots.
How the academy knew our sizes, I haven’t the slightest idea.
But all I know is one moment Marcella and I chose our rooms before heading to the bathing chambers, and the next, there were clothes and shoes folded neatly on our beds when we returned.
Though, I have to admit, I kind of like them.
The flowing, billowing trousers are loose yet structured, offering freedom of movement, and the wide legs taper at the ankles giving me a sense of security.
The shirt is long-sleeved with soft fabric, resting comfortably around the shoulders.
There was also a leather belt-contraption-thing that Marcella told me was called an Armsling Belt, meant to carry all the weapons a Jurafen may need.
I have no weapons nor knowledge of how to use them, so I tuck that underneath my bed.
Marcella is already halfway out the door, watching the last wave of examinees shuffle from their rooms. When she slides her gaze back to me, she offers a brisk nod. “Ready?”
No.
Not at all.
“Something like that,” I reply.
I follow her out of the room and through the corridors.
When she makes a right, I realize I had indeed made an incorrect left earlier.
We walk at a brisk pace—examinees both in front of us and a few trailing behind us, giving me a sense of temporary calm knowing we aren’t the last ones.
From the sides of my eyes, I catch Marcella looking at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Why couldn’t you sleep?”
I can tell the vague question is intentionally neutral. I respect the approach, honestly. So I answer truthfully. “I was a night attendant for the King of Rivara before coming here. I’m used to being awake through the night.”
Marcella gives nothing away, her face the perfect mask of calm. She does not push, but she does not recede, either. “Wanna tell me about it?”
And for the first time, I think I do want to talk about it.
Or perhaps it's simply that I want to tell her about it. So as we walk, I tell her everything about my time as a night attendant. I tell her about the nobles, the courtiers, and the emissaries I entertained. Tell her about the good ones, some of the bad ones—though I omit the worst ones. I tell her about the sleeping tonics. That I’m the daughter of a Gardner.
I even tell her about the anonymous notes, and about how all of the night attendants began using the tonics to protect themselves.
“How’d you manage to never make them question things?”
I huff a humorless laugh. “The tonics I made contained a blend of sedatives and a plant that, when ingested, disrupts the memory consolidation process. So, the next morning, all I had to do was blush a little when I saw whoever I “entertained” and bat my eyes. A person’s pride is a powerful weapon to wield against them; it clouds their judgment and makes them see only what they wish.
They were always more than content to puff their chests because of their performances . ”
Marcella clicks her tongue. “Pride is a distorting mirror reflecting only the image we crave. That’s what my mother told me, anyway, when I was a girl.” She blows out a haughty breath. “I’m glad you got out of there. That idiot Rivarian king can rot in hell for all I care.”
The tips of my lips curve with a wry smile. “Careful,” I warn. “You just committed high treason against the King of Rivara. He does not take kindly to such things.”
She snorts a laugh. “Let’s see him attempt to capture me, then. He’ll be fed his own skin before he gets anywhere.”
My brows lift as the thought settles pleasantly within me. “I’d pay good coin to watch that.”
“You and plenty of others.” She glances around, making sure we are still a good distance away from the groups of examinees. “In fact, maybe I should seek him out and demand penance for all the harm he has caused my new friend.”
I bark a sardonic laugh. “You’d have better luck speaking to one of the gods than that happening. ”
She hums a tune of wicked laughter. “I have a way of making things happen.”
I observe her more closely, then. Boisterous confidence rolls from her like waves crash to a sandy shore.
She holds herself with such an elegant grace despite coming across so masculine.
And with her curls sleekly braided back, I can see she really is quite pretty.
Her face is round and soft, her cobalt eyes large like a doe.
Her skin is pale and unblemished, save for the freckles dotting her slender, button nose.
A nose which she scrunches at me. “What?”
“You are quite pretty, Marcella.”
She sticks her tongue out and makes a sour face. “The day I care about what my face looks like is the day you can burn me in Amala’s temple.”
“Amala?” I question, lifting my brow. “You want to be burned in the goddess of earth’s temple?” My eyes narrow on her. “What’s your wielder’s mark, exactly?” My eyes flick to her arms, but they are covered by sleeves.
“What’s yours?” she shoots back through a half-formed smirk.
Touché.
I incline my head, silently saying as much. The next time I open my mouth to speak, her pointed gaze has me quickly snapping it shut.
“If you so much as suggest I wield fire magic because of my hair, I will slice you.”
I chuckle. “Noted.”
Our continuing conversation makes the journey to the Arena pleasant and quick, but there is a sharp shift in the air once we enter those towering doors and walk through the corridor that opens to the jarringly large space.
Examinees are groggy and unhappy, a twisted mix of dread and annoyance clotting the air.
We find our own corner, away from the grumbling groups of people awaiting instruction, and mind ourselves silently.
Until my peripheral vision catches a glimpse of half-drawn, shaggy brown hair. I whip my gaze over and find Gray scanning faces in the crowd .
My body slacks with relief. “Gray!” I call out to him.
He snaps his head toward the sound of my voice, and the lines surrounding his features soften when he sees me. Within a handful of seconds, he is in front of me, pulling me into his embrace.
“Where have you been?” I ask into his shoulder. “I was starting to worry something happened.” My voice holds steady, and I shield out the unexpected emotion I feel rapping at my chest.
He gently places one hand on the back of my head and squeezes tighter with the hand still wrapped around the small of my back. “I’m okay,” he assures me in a whisper. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”
I pull away to see his face. “So what happened? What did Josiah want with you?”
“To know what happened in the valley.”
I blink, stunned at first. Until I remember Josiah is the Keeper, and he was probably the one who dispatched Kiran, Draven, Griff, and Meiji on that scouting mission in the first place.
A pang pulses along the seams of my heart as I think of Meiji. “But why you? Kiran and Draven are captains here for gods-sakes.” My brows wrinkle with thought. “Why ask for your account?” When I catch the tiny arch of his brow, I quickly add, “No offense.”
“None taken,” he assures me through a tiny laugh.
Marcella takes a step forward, a curved brow and a humored smile filling her features. “Is this him?” she asks while jabbing a thumb in Gray’s direction.
“That’s him,” I lilt back, amused.
Gray’s brows pull together as he flicks his eyes between Marcella and me. “Well, since you seem to know who I am, might I know who you are?”
She stretches her hand out while wearing a boisterous grin. “Marcella Lynderful. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Gray shakes her hand, a puzzled expression lingering on his face. His gaze slides to me, and he flares his eyes, silently urging for a more thorough explanation.
I glance at Marcella and find myself surprised at the genuine smile tugging at my lips. “Marcella and I met yesterday at the commencement, and well…became friends. She and I are bunkmates now.”
His brows raise slightly. “Oh. I…” He clears his throat. “I had assumed we would be bunkmates.” A subtle red tint blooms across his cheeks.
Marcella throws an arm over Gray’s shoulder—forcing him to crouch down at the height difference. “There’s always room for a handsome man like you in our chambers. Right, Lyra?”
I chuckle at the display. “But of course there is.”