Chapter 28
Life at Holyvere Academy settled quickly into its own rhythm, and soon, Lantern, Vault, and Sanctum Days bled into the following week.
In addition to incra memorization—tracing and retracing hundreds of incras until Audra found herself drawing them in her sleep, which was preferable to dreaming of death temples and monsters—they were made to study history until her head ached with the sheer number of antiquated dates, treaties, alliances, shifting territories—the waxing and waning of golden ages, and which emperor and Heir ushered them in or out.
Zenaida was a beacon at the heart of the Veridian realm, a shining golden empire, for Heirs were only ever born on Zenaidan soil, and only by these Heirs could the Cycle complete and spring begin.
Until now, that is—but the scholars were less inclined to discuss how it came to be that, for the first time in recorded history, an Heir was born outside of Zenaida, and in the most unthinkable of places—the magic-less human realm.
It quickly became clear that Zenaida desired to keep this knowledge under wraps, which explained why this ancient, abandoned academy, located outside a small, nondescript village, was where they brought their potential Heirs, instead of opting for say, the capital, where the knowledge would spread, and their untouchable status would crumble.
For the next five hundred years or so, as the cycle shifted through the seasons, every surrounding nation would be wondering: Could the Heir be born on their soil next?
Had Zenaida’s golden reign finally ended?
For the first time in centuries, they would have to worry about invasions from not just demons from the Veiled Realm, but their neighbors as well.
Audra excelled in history, though she often wondered why they were learning it in such detail if the majority of initiates would just be sacrificed to stave off hordes of demons (the knowledge of the victor of a battle one thousand years before would not aid them when a demon closed its jaw over their limbs).
She was passable in incramancy as long as she need not cast any incras, but most of all, she struggled with combat training—she was an innkeeper’s daughter, raised to scrub floors, change bedding, cook delicious food, and outmaneuver their illicit and often immoral patrons—not gut a creature with a sword.
Wilder was worried for her; Audra would catch her intent, studying, gaze, brow furrowed.
Callum was downright vexed and vocal about it, growing increasingly frustrated when Audra refused to share the thoughts so clearly plaguing her.
Audra had barely been able to eat, consumed by agonizing dread, and it showed.
Despite the muscle gain from daily training, she’d begun to drop weight.
Still, she’d thrown herself into training, practicing with sword and staff whenever possible.
If she were to be plagued by this threat of demons, she might as well learn to kill them.
When their downtime coincided, Audra trained with both Callum and Wilder. Cersha rarely joined them, as Echinacea Guild hardly drilled in physical combat, their focus on healing.
Callum took to battle practice easily, preferring a broadsword as tall as Audra—one so heavy that she could barely lift it.
Wilder moved like water, her sword appearing as an extension of her limbs.
The soldier had been training for years, and it showed, but it was Wilder’s mind that was even more impressive than her effortless skill with staff, sword, daggers, bow, and arrow …
The soldier from the shadow class was a natural strategist.
Commander Renwick’s war games were intensifying.
Most days, the class was split into teams and forced to play at war.
Audra’s least favorite of all combat days were those when the losing team was forced to clean up the weapons at the end of class, smoothing out the scuffs and jabs in the sand and clay so the next class could have a fresh sparring ground.
Already exhausted by the end of class, it was difficult for her to put away the weapons without cutting herself or dropping them—and if they fell in the mud, she would have to sharpen and clean the weapons anew.
Audra devoured Commander Renwick’s assigned texts on tactics, strategy, and the art of war, and then borrowed more from the library and read those too.
However busy she kept herself though, the whispers had only gotten worse.
What had started as her name whispered in her ear while she was alone in the residence hall had escalated to full, one-sided conversations …
just out of reach of her understanding. The voices were young, old, male, female, all haunting, all other, and terrifying.
Audra was beginning to think she was going mad—but she was terrified to tell anyone.
Margaryte had been inconsolable, and the faculty’s response had been to put an arrow through her eye.
What would they do if they discovered that Audra heard voices?
And her friends, they had enough on their shoulders, their own worries, stresses, and grief.
Audra couldn’t bring herself to tell them—and when she was with them, she wasn’t plagued; she could push it down, ignore it.
And as far as Audra could tell, she was singular in this—the only one plagued by these whispers, the anomalies in the world around her.
One moment, a statue would be nothing but a fae hero or deity, a beautiful veiled marbled female swathed in vines and moss and piety, and the next, it would be a demon of flesh and blood, growling and salivating, its cruel yellow eyes gazing upon her like she was food, like all it wanted to do was tear through her skin, crunch on her bones, and slurp out the marrow.
Audra learned not to look directly at the statues or the art; even the tiled murals on the arched ceiling of the atrium weren’t safe.
She’d embarrassed herself too many times by flinching in the classroom or gasping in alarm, making other initiates startle in the corridors.
As far as the incras went … Audra had not managed to sort the problem out on her own either.
That was how she found herself on the first floor, pacing the corridor outside the doors that housed the Holyvere scholars’ personal offices.
For once, Scholar Khari’s door wasn’t crowded with initiates.
He’d quickly become a favorite; it wasn’t unusual to see gaggles of them hanging around, just to talk.
Audra wasn’t entirely immune to his charm; she recognized that Scholar Khari was handsome—his amber-colored eyes and quick-to-smile attitude made the initiates drop their guard, feeling almost warm, welcome, and most importantly, understood.
Scholar Khari was often a soothing balm in this unyielding, structured machine of Holyvere Academy.
This was the perfect opportunity to meet with him, and yet, she paced back and forth outside his door, ignoring the spirit perched on the banister to her left, sobbing into their robes; she couldn’t think of a way to ask him how to fake incras without igniting his suspicions over her failure, and that was the last thing she wanted to happen.
Audra had a few suspicions of her own for why she was the only witness to the anomalies, and why her own incras never seemed to do what they were supposed to—but she hadn’t allowed herself to give fully formed thought to them, not even in her own mind—the last thing she wanted to do was lead Scholar Khari down a similar path.
Still, she was desperate for help.
Scholar Khari was a deep well of knowledge; he knew so much that it often made Audra dizzy, the way he always had an answer to any question. Though that very intelligence, right now, while something she admired, was the cause of her vexation.
Fuck it. Before she lost all nerve, she raised a fist and knocked.
He called for her to enter, and she pushed the door open a smidge, poking her head through.
Scholar Khari perched behind his desk, grading a stack of assignments.
From the look of it, it was the paper they’d turned in last week on the Treaty of Seven Rivers and how the end to the conflict encouraged a miniature renaissance of fresh incras—a sneaky deal that landed Zenaida a large chunk of land in exchange for grain.
“Are your office hours over?”
“They are, but I see that hasn’t stopped you from interrupting.”
Audra’s shoulders slumped as she muttered an apology and prepared to close his door, duck back into the hallway.
“But as you’ve come all the way here, you may as well pose your question.” He placed his quill down and leaned back, looking at her properly for the first time since she’d popped her head through the door.
She hesitated. She still wasn’t even sure how she would pose the question …
A sigh. “Audra, you’re letting out the heat from the fireplace, which is struggling enough to warm even this small room in such a drafty castle. Come in, take a seat.”
Audra pushed the rest of the way through the door and sat in the rounded chair across from his desk. She couldn’t help but eye the stack of papers.
Had he graded hers already?
What had he thought of the anecdote she’d included about the unfair outcome of the treaty?
Zenaida, the kingdom first to spring and last to winter, held the richest soil; their crops outlasted those everywhere else in the empire every winter.
Zenaidan seers were singularly privy to when the season would end and had had enough grain to last. Instead of sharing with the Inthyanta Empire, they’d chosen to exploit them instead. Grain for land.
Every Desolate Winter, Zenaida’s borders swelled like an abscess as the surrounding nations whittled down.