Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Kieran
If I hadn’t gotten out of the classroom, I’d have done something worse than my many other foolish actions. Something like kiss Morgan Whyte senseless.
She is an intoxicating mix of demanding, intimidating, and utterly maddening, in no particular order.
Head down, I stomp down the hallway with the dull thud of my footsteps keeping me company, stopping at the slightly ajar doors to the dining hall.
My day began there. Now, the tables are packed with bodies, laughter and the clink of silverware in the air.
How many of these recruits will make it to graduation? I can’t muster the energy to count, or to care, but if history repeats itself then the number will be culled by at least half.
It’s the way of life and certainly at DragonSpear, on a smaller scale.
The warriors who come out of this place are tested and hardened and any last bit of hesitation hammered out of them. If the curriculum doesn’t do the trick, then infighting among students does.
I smooth a hand down the front of my leathers and push out a long breath.
And although I want to forget the last few hours, an image of Morgan Whyte’s face rips through my mind.
Growling, I force the image aside, but it snags somewhere before it disappears, like an imprint is left behind.
I’m pathetic.
Worse than a lovesick boy mooning over his first infatuation.
She takes up my fantasies during the day and my dreams and nightmares when I sleep. I wonder what she’s doing and why she refuses to budge. She is colder than iron and more stubborn than the worst kind of mule, although the comparison feels mean-spirited despite the truth.
If nothing else, I’d done a masterful job of making her hate me.
Scoffing, my fists clenched tightly enough to dig my nails into the skin of my palm, I stalk away from dinner. My appetite is too soured to pretend to eat.
If I thought falling back into the role of tormentor would get Morgan to fall in line, then I’d do it. I’m used to playing the part for my father. Half the time, I slip into it naturally.
Tonight, at least, I have some pivoting to do, and the old role will help.
My responsibilities are to the people, to the ones I care about, and to my school work. My false betrothed will go ahead and make my life even more miserable with her advances, if the stress of classwork doesn’t force premature white hairs on my head.
I’ve ruined everything and there’s no easy way to erase the mistake without taking everyone else down with me.
Other people are going to get hurt because I put my faith in the wrong person.
I saw something in Morgan that clearly isn’t there or mistook what I saw for something else.
I made her into what I wanted her to be rather than what she is.
Fighting with her this evening had been a colossal waste of time.
I doubt I’ve made a dent in that wall in her head, blocking her access to reason. It’s a fatal flaw.
My ears ring.
A group of students heading to dinner late crosses the hall in my direction. I swallow a groan and turn my head away from them. They go dead silent at the sight of me. One of them, another first year, ducks her head to avoid making direct eye contact with me.
Despite the rumble in my stomach, I head for the stairs and my bedroom.
“Was that Kieran Ryson?”
The question, whispered under someone’s breath, embarrasses me. I have to take care with the image I present. Otherwise my father will hear about it.
“Who would be stupid enough to rile him up?” one of the group whispers. “Someone’s going to bleed tonight.”
They fear me as much as they admire me. Tristan is much better at weaponizing his magnetism.
He has the kind of charisma you can’t fake.
For me, it feels like I’m a star on the verge of death.
It’s hard to continue to shine without the character or conviction to back it up.
I’m apparently lacking both of those things.
I can’t let myself falter this way. It’s not only weak but embarrassing.
Is there a way to undo what I’ve done today? To somehow spin it into a win rather than a colossal waste of time and energy?
Shame tastes like the worst kind of burned meat pie in my mouth. I drag myself upstairs and along the long passage to my bedroom. I stop in front of the door with my hand on the knob, hesitating, thinking. Letting the seconds tick by.
I messed up, and for what? For one stubborn, pretty girl? There’s a strong possibility I’m wrong about the girl on every level and not just this one. My unwillingness to accept her mindset should concern me, should worry me much more than it does.
The truth of the matter?
My motivations are dark. I can’t dislodge her. I don’t want to, because I need her, and if my motivations have to stay black as my dragon, then Ether take me.
Can I threaten Headmistress Harbi into undoing her proclamation?
Yeah, sure, and maybe the ground will open and swallow me whole so I don’t have to face the consequences.
Frowning, I pull open the door and scan the bedroom. The bed is exactly as I left it, with the sheets pulled up to the headboard and folded over with military precision. My desk chair is empty, and the doors locked tight against the growing twilight.
There’s no Evie.
The thought immediately sinks to the bottom of my stomach, heavier than stone. There’s no Evie because she’s bleeding in the infirmary right now from the violent beatdown after lunch.
Groaning, I step inside and concentrate on my breathing as I flip the lock closed behind me. This moment, although there is no inherent physical danger, carries the same tension as the start of a battle. I’m waiting for the horn to blow and send the troops into ruthless motion.
Everything inside me withers, shrinks, turns to ash.
Feeling like a bull in a too small paddock, I throw myself in the chair in front of the desk, running a hand over the grains of the cherry wood making designs at the heart of it.
There are more books here too, leather bound and mint condition, things that will never grace the shelves of a public library.
This is what status gets you.
Status is hollow, a beautiful shell with nothing inside. I’ve earned none of it and deserve less.
Past the door to my private bathroom, the cool marble tile is broken up by a plush crimson rug from the Eldorian territory. The quality is nearly impossible to match and harder to find these days. But I’ve got one ready to soak up the dirt and grime from the bottom of my boots.
None of the other students have a rug like this. Even Headmistress Harbi doesn’t have one. Only me. Because of my father.
The room is scented with expensive cleaners and fresh flowers rest sleepily in a vase the color of Morgan’s eyes on my dresser.
This is why I can’t back down from my path now.
The Headmistress wants me out of here, I guarantee it, and I just handed her the means to do it.
Threatening her will never get her to change her mind.
There’s no such thing as leniency with her, especially not when I’d bullied my way into her office to stand up for a maid.
This is on my shoulders whether I like the direction it’s taking or not.
I drop my head in my hands. “Come on, Kieran, get it together.”
Energy lights my muscles and I stand awkwardly, pacing from one side of the room to the other. There’s got to be a way out of this. Nimble fingers find the clasp on my weapons holster, and I let it fall to the ground, discarded.
“There’s a way out of this whether you see it or not,” I urge.
My voice lacks conviction.
Morgan will never change her mind. She’s made her position painfully clear and it strikes me as odd how similar she is to Harbi. The two of them would make an indomitable pair under different circumstances. No one would dare stand against them if they united.
Without his dragon, even my father would fall prey to those two, I have no doubt.
Today, I tried my best and my best is not good enough. So what do I do now?
Harbi gave me two hours to get through to Morgan. I’d have better luck chipping my way through this mountain with my teeth.
My hand slicks over the dagger still strapped tightly to my thigh holster. She hadn’t managed to gut me. Does it count as a small win?
Not in this case.
I glance outside at the evening slipping into violet and purple. My time is up. I’m out. I’m out.
“I’m out.”
I pace to the armoire and pull open the doors. A brown bottle rests on one of the shelves inside and I grab it, throttling the neck to pull the cork free and knocking back a long pull.
The strong taste of distilled liquor scalds the back of my throat on its way down. I knock back another sip until the heat pours into the gulley of my stomach.
It’s a waste to guzzle the drink this way. Another luxury, for the son of the great General.
I can do whatever I want but no one understands the consequences of slipping.
“I’m out,” I croak.
I force myself to repeat the words until they stick but the meaning is beyond me. All my efforts at kindling a rebellion will be for nothing now. Unless I somehow find a way to continue the work outside of DragonSpear…
I’m going to have to find Astrid and let her know. No doubt she’ll bash my brains in for this. She only knows I’d been searching for Morgan, that something had gone south with my negotiating. She has no idea about the deal I cut with Harbi.
When Astrid finds out, I’ll be worse off than hydra meat.
Holing up in my room to sulk has its merits. A very big part of me considers the bed, how comfortable it will be to duck under the covers the way I used to do as a child and shut out the rest of the world.
In the dark cave of linen, it’s easy to pretend there is nothing and no one else.
Then Mom would come into my room pretending to look for me. She’d make a big show of it, scouring the room from top to bottom and playfully ignoring my giggles.
We’d always end with her running a soothing hand down whatever body part of mine hunched up, usually my back, and telling me a story of the start of the world and how we came from Ether.