Chapter Twenty-Two #2
The eight seated members of the Council were statues in their chairs, except Starvos, whose warm smile stretched to the crinkly corners of his eyes.
I took my seat at the accused’s table while they held a private discussion, a static, white noise permeating the room to prevent me from hearing them.
Aurora and Helen did most of the talking.
Jaxan eyed me with a look of loathing. A few more minutes passed, and my throat went tight with the realization that Starvos’s face was too grave for whatever judgment they were reaching to be anything other than bad.
The static shut off.
“Stand for judgment,” Aurora ordered.
I stood, feeling my body floating away from me.
“The Council issues a second strike against the half witch for false claims made against the Echelon Jaxan D’Oron,” she said. “An L for Libel will be branded on her forehead. The punishment will now be administered.”
Ydris closed his eyes in meditative focus, casting the brand from his seat on the Council’s bench.
A rancid charcoal scent made my stomach pulse, the stench of burning hair mixed with a sour vinegar variety of iron signature.
Trickles of blood and pus nested uncomfortably in my eyebrows as I listened to my flesh sizzle. It did not feel like a small L.
I felt it starting at my hairline, stretching all the way down to the bridge of my nose.
Ydris’s eyes slowly lifted. “How is the pain?” he asked.
I felt nothing from the brand, aside from a slight tightness, similar to how skin gets pulled around a scab. But other than a slight headache from the iron, I was fine. “Manageable,” I answered. “Thank you for asking.”
“Half witch?” Aurora sneered down. “You may go now.”
I quickly fled the trial room and left the palace, keeping my eyes down to avoid catching my reflection in any gilded surfaces on the way out.
* * *
It was noon when I returned to Creatus, my head low as I walked through the academy in a rush to get to the second-year washroom to rinse my eyebrows.
At the sight of me, Vyra’s dramatic gasp sounded like an alarm I was sure the entire academy heard.
“That is hideous,” she said, her face twisting in disgust as she stood outside her door on the spiral.
“Thanks.” I couldn’t get away from her fast enough.
“I’ll tell everyone,” Vyra shouted after me. “So no one’s as shocked as I was when they get their first look.”
I gave her a thumbs-up.
* * *
An hour later, I went to lunch wearing a baseball cap.
I grabbed a grilled cheese and took it to the first-year table to eat with Skye and Belinda.
Around people was the last place I wanted to be, but Skye had been ignoring my messages all morning and I had questions.
How did Leland fix my flu and how had she known he could fix it?
“July 24 — special day!” Belinda beamed. Her eyes, momentarily snagging on my branded forehead, darted to the seat next to her where Pepper was sitting.
I plunked down next to Skye, trying not to take offense when her nose crinkled at the smell of my brand, or when she shifted an inch left, her chair screeching.
“Hi,” I said, and rotated to face her. I took a bite of grilled cheese and stared her down, chewing. She slid left another inch.
Belinda was jabbering on about a birthday, rain, straightening her hair, and I’m not sure what else because my attention was trained on Skye, who was refusing to look at me.
I swallowed my bite. “Skye,” I said slowly. “What is wrong with me?”
“Many things,” she answered, and held up a finger. “For one, you smell like a morgue.” She held up a second finger. “Number two, you spend seventy-five percent of your time daydreaming about Gray Fallsdown. Three — ”
“I meant my flu.”
“You’re sick?” Belinda asked my chin. “Have you tried mint tea?”
I shook my head briskly. “What happened last night?” I said to Skye.
“You vomited on our rug. It was adorable.”
I took another spiteful bite.
“Not a fan of tea, then,” Belinda mumbled. “Noted.” Her smile looked deranged as her eyes roamed everywhere but my brand. “Is there anything else I can do to help you be ready for this evening?”
This evening?
I glanced sideways at Skye. I had no idea what this evening was. With an eyeroll, Skye pulled out her transmitter.
“What is . . . ?” I asked cautiously, doubting I wanted the answer. “What is this evening?”
“Very funny!” Belinda slapped the table, her mouth agape with laughter. “You know it’s Rayne’s birthday party at the tavern! That’s why I was telling you about my outfit.” Her shoulders shimmied. “Sequins!”
I struggled to swallow my bite, the rough toasted bread scratching all the way down. “I’m sorry,” I said, defeated. “I can’t go to that. Today was — I can’t go to a party. I have a huge brand on my forehead.”
Belinda looked surprised to hear that.
“Belinda,” I sighed. “I won’t be offended if you look at it. I know it’s ugly. It’s fine, but I don’t want to go to a party with it.”
Skye set her transmitter down and mine buzzed the next second. I shot her a look.
Skye Ambrosia: She’s been blabbering on for an hour about how much you hate her. I can’t do this again tomorrow. You are going to this party.
Ember Blackburn: What? Why would I hate her?
Skye Ambrosia: Well, you ignore her at every opportunity.
Ember Blackburn: I do?
I met Skye’s eyes to see if she was serious, and it seemed she was.
But I didn’t ignore Belinda — at least, not intentionally.
I let her be. I let all of them be. I didn’t want to complicate their fourth-year hierarchy or their fifth-year candidacy with my half-witch existence.
I stayed away so no one felt compelled to ask why my fists clenched around Leland or what was up with my swollen eye bags.
I didn’t dislike any of them. I disliked being the burden who sucked the life out of a room.
Skye Ambrosia: Yes. The same way you ignore everyone, but Belinda is precious and not used to it.
“Are you guys messaging about me?” Belinda’s voice was leeched of all cheer, and like she couldn’t believe anyone could ever do such a thing. “Right in front of me?”
“No,” Skye lied.
I looked up from my transmitter with a guilty expression. “Yes,” I said, trying to convey with my face that it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. “Skye was convincing me to come to the party tonight. And I will. If you still want me to.”
Belinda, recovering quickly, propped her elbows on the table, her bright-brown eyes delighted. “Come to my room at six and I’ll do your hair!” She waved her hand over her forehead. “I think we can fix it with bangs.”
Vyra, exiting the cafeteria in a cloud of candied perfume, paused at the head of our table on her way out. “It’s going to take more than bangs.” Her mouth pinched in repulsion. “You’ll obviously need to do her makeup.”
“Yes, absolutely! Fun fact — I just got this new palette that is the most perfect, beautiful shimmeryness for golden undertones.”
I struggled to swallow the rest of my sandwich. Hair. Makeup. Party. I didn’t want it. But it wasn’t Belinda’s fault I was this way, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings again, so I was going to have to go along with it.
* * *
After lunch, without a single straight answer from Skye, I went to our room for quiet, closed the curtains to my bed, and replayed the events of last night.
Sort of. After the memory of Leland Healing me, my mind took a turn and imagined him following me back to bed.
Except it wasn’t Leland. It was Gray. And just the thought of him here in my bed made my blood rush as intensely as it used to when I’d crawl through his window and climb into his bed.
When it was real, when it was more than just a hodge-podge of memories of being kissed and held and taken care of.
Nova sat on my head.
I turned, flaring my nostrils and puffing out cat hairs, but she readjusted. She went where I went, suffocating my face with her butthole again.
“Skye?” I asked.
No answer. I knew she was in here.
“Skyeeee.” My groan was muffled by Nova’s small paws delicately stomping across my mouth. “Call your cat!”
Nova remained where she was.
“She’s blocking my airway!” I moved out from under Nova and jerked my head at my pillow, imploring her to go there instead. But Nova persisted in squatting her backside on my forehead. “Help me,” I said, and coughed to the side. “I’m asphyxiating.”
“Should we be this concerned about oxygen loss when your brain is already damaged?”
“Skye!”
“Fineeee,” she groaned. “But you’re getting up.” She ripped open my bed curtains. “And we’re making a list.”
That could’ve meant anything, but I didn’t argue. I blew my nose while she fixed a sheet of parchment to a clipboard. In an official manner, she handed it to me, then fierily tossed a turquoise felt-tip pen at my head.
“Three things that make a good boyfriend,” she instructed. “Go.”
I looked up at her, not amused. This was our — oh, I don’t know — tenth discussion about Gray, which I’d mostly permitted because, sometimes, it was the fastest way to get her to leave me alone.
She’d asked about the dates we went on and what kinds of presents he got me (my answer wasn’t pleasing); she knew how often he messaged and about our long-term plans (which there were none). But I made her the list.
Four words written down hastily so I could go back to daydreaming. Brave. Responsible. Open. Communicative. She’d asked for three, but I couldn’t pick.
Skye snatched the clipboard from my hands.
“Let’s start with brave,” she said, wielding a red pen with terrifying authority.
“Does stringing someone along for five years because you’re too scared to say you’re not interested sound brave?
No?” A line was slashed. “I’ll go ahead and cross off communicative for the same reason.
Responsible? I’m hearing unprotected sex, asking you to drive impaired to the cheese place — ”
“Cheesecake Factory.”
“ — and I’m thinking responsibility is nonexistent.
” She crossed the word out. “Open? Yeah, maybe. But starting a new hobby every week is also annoying. And if he was sad about his parents, why not say that? You could not be easier to say hard things to because all you do is digest them; therefore, the problem is him.” She handed back the clipboard.
“Oh look,” she said, feigning shock. “Gray is none of the things on your list.”
“You don’t know him like I do. Gray is — ”
“Nothing you consider important. He wasn’t there, you dork. Leland stayed awake all night to cast a Shield on you. You see the difference?”
“Leland cast a Shield?”
“The fantasy,” Skye said, continuing her lecture, “is having your feelings reciprocated by someone who’s rejected you, and it is a fantasy because, in order to make it work, you have to inflate him.
The Gray in your head does things real Gray never would.
The reality is, you are very sweet and loving when you’re paying attention, and Gray never deserved you. ”