Chapter 8 #2
“So, you could have gotten your magic from either of them,” Thal said again with that soothing tone, but Lory slipped her arm out of his grasp, shaking her head.
“Don’t you think my mother would have used magic to survive on the streets? To keep her children fed?” It was then she realized how much she’d given away.
“It’s all right, really.” Not that anyone expressed their pity for her past fighting for survival, but the need to keep her dignity set in.
She’d stolen, yes. She’d run and hidden and done what it took in order to survive, but she’d never been pitied.
She’d never begged or made herself dependent on anyone.
She’d lived because she’d fought for it every day.
And now, for the first time, things were being handed to her.
If she were honest, she’d never eaten healthier than she did now.
She’d never had a bed as safe as now. Yet, she hadn’t chosen this.
She hadn’t chosen Ashthorn or the people surrounding her in this very room.
And she sure as Eroth’s Veil hadn’t chosen the looming presence of Captain Falcrest, who popped his head in through the open door, waving over one of the students at the back of the room.
It was Frost, and judging by the expression on his face, he wasn’t eager to go alone with the man who escorted students to die at the tip of his blade every morning.
“Where do you think they’re going?” Lory whispered at Tabi, whose gaze had landed on the handsome captain, too.
Tabi brushed back one of her braids. “Wherever it is can’t be good.
That man is trouble.” She leaned in, lowering her voice even more, and Thal, Jarek, and Lory mirrored her.
“My brother graduated from Ashthorn last year. He said Falcrest was brought in from the common military, not only because of his skills but because he’s ruthless and loyal to the crown.
He handles the criminals brought into the academy because, with his magic, he is most likely to pick up on any tricks and escape plans they come up with. ”
A cold shudder ran down Lory’s back.
“Not that anyone would be stupid enough to try to escape,” Jarek amended. “Not with someone like Falcrest on their heels. They’d be dead before they set foot out of the building.”
Thal dipped his chin in agreement. “I mean … have you seen how that man moves? And I don’t mean the obvious aesthetics.” All three of them hummed their agreement. “He’s a machine. Deadly, precise, unstoppable. And you haven’t even seen him fight yet.”
“You have?” Lory couldn’t help the pang of jealousy rising in her stomach at the thought of everyone knowing more about Falcrest than she did.
“You don’t need to head to your room every day after dinner, Lory.” Thal winked at her. “The windows from the second-floor corridor give a nice view of the training grounds at night.”
Lory made a mental note to get lost in the hallways after dinner that day while telling herself it was to learn more about the enemy rather than satisfy her curiosity about the man.
“What sort of magic does he have? How would he know about people’s plans?” Lory glanced from Thal to Tabi to Jarek and back to Thal. “Wait… Can he see the future? Can he read minds?” Guardians, she hoped not, or all the unchaste thoughts she’d had about him would blow up in her face.
“Eroth no,” Tabi said a bit too loudly not to catch the attention of the students at the table next to theirs.
She lowered her voice again, holding Lory’s gaze as if sharing a secret.
“Mind reading hasn’t been heard of in hundreds of years.
Only the Flame-born who used to terrorize this continent were capable of mind-reading. He’s a dreamweaver.”
“A what?” Lory tried to ignore the excitement building in her stomach at the thought of learning something about Falcrest that wasn’t common knowledge.
“A dreamweaver is someone who can see into your dreams and draw secrets from you without you even noticing,” Jarek explained, stacking his and Tabi’s rolls of gauze on top of each other, then bracing his forearms on the table.
He shot a glance at the door where Falcrest and Frost had long vanished.
“He can see into your subconscious, plant ideas in your mind, do whatever it takes to keep you in line.”
Another shudder ran through Lory as she thought of ever sleeping again.
Perhaps her compliance to stay at Ashthorn wasn’t even of her own making.
It might have been Falcrest sneaking into her head during her short hours of rest, convincing her mind to want to stay at the academy, to not consider running.
No wonder they had brought him to Ashthorn at such a young age.
A man with such powers and absolute loyalty to the king was an asset any secret military unit could dream of.
“If we survive the first trials in all fields of our education, we’ll be elevated to thornlings, and thornlings don’t die for missing breakfast. If you want to survive until then, stay as far away from him as possible.” Tabi’s warning sounded more like heartfelt advice.
Too late. Falcrest had noticed her the first time she’d laid eyes on him in that airy marble room where she’d been sentenced to die, and now, his attention seemed to follow her wherever she went. Perhaps even to her dreams.
Perhaps, if she had any, it was time for her magic to stop hiding. Anything that would help her stand against this man would be a win, and maybe, just maybe, if she survived a place designed to kill her, she’d become a weapon even Falcrest would fear.
That night, Lory took her time finishing the second helping of amaranth bread and prickly pear jelly while observing the thinning crowd in the mess hall.
Tabi and Jarek left right after dinner, announcing they’d do some extra work on the small indoor parcours provided for students.
Brycon was sitting two tables over, chatting with Eira and a few greens whose names Lory didn’t know.
Next to her, Thal was absently swirling the water in his glass, staring it down like that would set off his magic, while from across the table, Frost’s glacial gaze followed Thal’s movements as if ready to freeze the water should it climb out of its container.
“Ricca’s staring at you,” Thal murmured without pulling his attention off his water glass.
When Lory glanced over to the side of the room, sure as Eroth’s Veil, the woman who’d tried to kill Frost, then cause Lory’s collision with Ronan that had made him plunge to his death, had her full focus in their direction.
The thought of Ronan’s broken body tightened Lory’s throat, but she bravely swallowed the lump, steeling her spine against the disdain in Ricca’s eyes.
“Not at me,” she whispered, flicking her gaze at Frost. “At him.”
For the first time since she’d met the pale ashling, something like shame flashed across his features as he met Lory’s gaze. He dropped the piece of bread in his hand and swallowed the bite in his mouth, then stood and headed for the door after a few other blues.
“Did he thank you for saving him?” Thal wanted to know, and Lory considered whether the brief sympathetic smile Frost had given her the morning after the incident counted as thanks, then decided it didn’t.
“Not really. But he’s not talking to anyone, is he?”
“Not since Ricca tried to exact justice.” Thal briefly glanced up from his glass, assessing Ricca with a rare serious expression.
“She’s going to cause more trouble, isn’t she?” Lory didn’t dare consider what would happen if Ricca came after her.
A brief dip of Thal’s chin was all the answer she got.
“What about Brycon?” He seemed to have been in accordance with Ricca’s initial skepticism toward Lory, but hadn’t shown the same hostility as the woman.
“The only thing Brycon loves more than the written word is hearing himself recite the written word.” Thal drained his water glass and set it down on the table, murmuring, “Damn knowledgist.”
“Knowledgist? That’s what you call his gift?”
“Or a real know-it-all.”
At his response, Lory chuckled under her breath, allowing herself a glance at the elevated area at the front of the room where the last of daylight filtered through the massive stained-glass window featuring the battle scene with the leonthor emerging from the fire.
After a meal of successfully avoiding to check if Falcrest was there, her stomach had tied into a painful knot, and finding his chair empty didn’t ease the sensation.
At least, she wouldn’t need to wait for him to leave before sneaking into the second-floor corridor.
“Make sure you check your bed for deadly surprises,” Thal said with his usual humor back in place.
“Likewise.” With a quick smile at the young man, Lory got to her feet and headed for the door, already minding her steps before she entered the quiet hallway. With a few strides, she was at the first turn, sneaking along the gray stone walls, watching her shadow flicker in the dancing torchlight.
She was halfway toward the line of twirling limestone columns framing the balcony around the training yard when her pulse picked up pace and her palms started sweating the way they used to when she stalked one of her targets in the streets of Dunai.
It was fear, she told herself—fear of being caught, fear of ending up at the tip of a blade and being marched to her death at breakfast the next morning.
Fear of Ashthorn Ward and its cruel ways.
At least, her black attire allowed her to blend into her surroundings. No wonder the most secretive institution in all of Brestolya had chosen pitch black as its signet color. Black, not only for the veils of mystery surrounding every last facet of the academy, but for death stalking its hallways.
Lory reached the first column, ducking behind the solid railing to spy past the curly form connecting the floor to the balcony on the next level.
The yard was empty, the sparring area abandoned except for a bundle of fabric sitting at the edge of the training parcours where Lory and her fellow ashlings had put their lives at risk, climbing the facade of the fake building and practicing the leap to the adjacent platforms. There, right where Ronan had plunged from the roof, a figure in black was scaling the wall so fast the thought of it alone made Lory’s muscles ache.
Smooth and elegant, each movement sure and deliberate, despite the neck-breaking speed, the person climbed, then jumped from the roof to the platform after a run that had Lory’s stomach quivering with the anticipation of something going wrong.
One loose rock, one slippery spot, and they would tumble over the edge of the platform.
Carefully, Lory inched along the railing to get closer to the parcours, her eyes glued to the form racing across the deadly obstacles like it was nothing more than a path in the sand. Only when they made it to the highest point did the figure slow and turn around.
From this distance, Lory couldn’t tell who it was, but the form, now coming to a halt, was definitely female, and the woman’s face was dark enough to swallow what little light the moon provided.
Lory nestled deeper below the railing, praying that the faint glow reaching her hiding place behind the windows on the ground floor would not expose her.
Not Falcrest. This was definitely not Falcrest, even when the person moved as efficiently and gracefully as he did and seemed to have as little regard for life—or death—as he.
Lory’s heart almost stopped as the figure stepped over the edge of the platform, disappearing between the various pillars, bridges, and walls.
Only when someone clapped down in the yard did she dare breathe again, and her heart stopped beating for real when Captain Falcrest stepped out of the shadows beside the parcours, applauding the woman jogging toward him from the heart of the cluster of obstacles.
“Nicely done, Anees,” he praised when she stopped in front of him, picking up a bottle of water from the ground and draining half of it before handing it to him.
“That was nothing,” the woman chimed, much to Lory’s dismay, sounding not even half as winded as she’d expected. Was there anything Anees didn’t excel at? Including telling lies and misleading people?
The woman playfully swatted Falcrest’s arm, gesturing at the combat training area. “Now the real fun begins.”