9. Syrus #2
I’m determined to find out and also determined to keep her safe.
Which means not giving her the chance to block me out again.
I’ve gently tested her walls since yesterday and found that they’re no longer impenetrable.
I don’t know whether it was deliberately or by accident, but she’s left a way back in for me.
Maybe it’s delusional, but there’s a part of me that believes she might have done it on purpose.
Because when I said she was mine, she didn’t deny it.
Now I just need to find a way to remind her of that.
Leah
The first trial changes things.
The academy instructors start to acknowledge me more, pairing me with fellow fledglings to practice my magic and learn some non-flying combat skills.
And what’s more, most of the fledglings accept it.
Not because they have to, but because I came out of the Eyrie better off than many of them.
My injuries are superficial, and my move with the dermison attracted more than just Rowan’s attention.
Suddenly, I’m equal to them—or closer to it than I was before, anyway—worthy of their trials and their respect.
Sure, Keros and a handful of his friends still seem irrationally angry that I’m here at all, but they’re in the minority.
Two days after the trial, a fledgling even commends me on how I handled the wolf.
When I point out that I mostly ran and hid from it, she said it was a decent strategy considering my “obvious limitations.”
I decide to take it as a compliment.
Being around all these ephilium is changing me too.
I’m nearly as strong and fast as the rest of the fledglings now, and my injuries from the trial are almost gone after two days.
It’s not as if I’ve actually done anything to earn those advancements, but it’s hard not to feel good, knowing every day I’m getting more powerful.
The good feelings are tempered with wariness, though.
I’m more powerful, but that may still not be powerful enough.
Because try as I might, I can’t seem to get my mental barriers back to how they were before.
It makes me nervous, knowing that I’m exposed, and even more nervous when I don’t hear from Syrus for a full forty-eight hours after the trial—though once or twice I think I feel the touch of him on some outer defense of my mind.
I know it’s only a matter of time until he intrudes on me, and the delay has me constantly on edge.
On the second day, at breakfast, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt that telltale prickle up the back of my neck.
It turned out to just be a sudden draft from someone opening a window, but my reaction was so extreme, Filippa asked me if I hit my head while I was in the arena.
It makes me feel crazy, how the waiting is almost…anticipation. Even after we’d been bonded for a while, I still considered Syrus my enemy, yet my body welcomed his presence. Craved it. So it shouldn’t really surprise me that my treacherous body remembers how that felt now. Or that it wants more.
It’s almost a relief then, when he finally does find me.
I’m alone, standing on one of the fledgling training fields.
Maybe he knows that—maybe it’s why he picks this moment.
I’m practicing shooting imbued arrows at a target and have just nocked an arrow when I feel the back of my neck tingle with his touch.
I’m proud of myself for not missing a beat. I release the arrow and watch it hit just a little south of the bullseye, lightning radiating from the arrowhead across the target’s face with a satisfying crackle.
“What do you want, Syrus?” I ask, drawing another arrow from my quiver.
“Now, is that any way to greet the person who saved your life two days ago?” he tuts. It’s twisted and fucked up, but his voice sounds so good rumbling in the inside of my head. Part of me wants to find ways to keep him talking, just so I can enjoy the feeling of it stroking across my mind.
“Yes. Saved it. Past tense. So I’m not sure why you’re here now,” I say. It’s harsh and ungrateful, but I have to keep him at arm’s length, or else that other side of me—the shortsighted, craving part—might take control.
“And you don’t think you’ll be needing further assistance in the future?” he asks mildly. “There are no other extremely dangerous events lurking on the horizon designed to kill and maim you?”
I hesitate before nocking my arrow. “And so what if there are? I can handle myself.”
I’m not an idiot. When it comes to the trials, I know I’m out of my depth, but I can’t accept Syrus’s help as things stand between us.
…can I?
No, of course I can’t. There’s no way to work with him and stay detached, not when he literally has strings attached to me—magical ones that can make me do whatever he wants if he just tugs on them.
“Of course,” he says, sounding casual at first, “why would you have any problems passing a notoriously intense ephilium test when you don’t even have WINGS?” The last word is said with such exasperation I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.
“I thought you didn’t know anything about the fledgling trials?” I say, pressing my palm against the end of the arrow so that my magic courses through it, imbuing the wood and sharp metal with lightning.
“I’ve been reading up on them,” he admits. “Or rather, Viz has.”
I pause again, the magic-laced arrow fizzing in my fingers, waiting to be released.
“Viz? How is he? And what about Aster? Is her arm better yet?”
“I’m surprised you care enough to ask,” he says, so bitterly I nearly drop the arrow. Instead, I correct my hold and take aim again, letting my anger spike, wanting him to feel it.