Chapter 38 #2
His usual light-hearted expression had been replaced by a thin-lipped glower. He looked furious.
“Talisa. Finally! Thank Justaron the Lawgiver!” He pushed off the wall and came to me. His hands found my shoulders. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. But… they kept asking me if I’d sabotaged the banner to get even with Lukhan because he’d been bullying me. I think they’re going to blame us for what went wrong today.”
His laugh was short and bitter. “Of course they are. They kept asking me the same questions, just using different words each time. How did she do it? How did a first-year commoner with no formal combat training stabilize a banner that two aristocratic second-years couldn’t control?
As if the answer couldn’t possibly be that you’re better than them!
Of course they think that we must have done something wrong! ”
His amber eyes were bright with a fury I’d never seen in him before. Not the performative outrage he often deployed for comic effect, but something raw and genuine.
“Our banner was broken too,” he continued. “We figured it out. Lukhan and Damien didn’t. And instead of acknowledging that, Chatelaine Lirelle and the others are treating us like suspects because we had the audacity not to let the teams with a lord or lady in their families win.”
I reached up and wrapped my fingers around his wrists. His pulse hammered against my thumb. “They’re scared.”
“Probably.” He took a deep breath. “And if there’s something I’ve learned since coming here, it’s that everything is designed to keep people like us in our places. And then we made it to the finals in front of half the imperial court, and showed them their system doesn’t work.”
I shut my eyes and confessed my deepest fear. “I think they’re going to use this as an excuse to kick me out immediately.”
Elio’s hand rose and cupped my cheek. His thumb brushed my lips in a slow caress as he gazed down at me. A thrill shot straight down the pit of my belly, leaving a slow, hot throb behind, like a second pulse.
“I wish I could tell you they wouldn’t dare,” he said. “But if the worst happens, I swear to you, I and everyone else in the Circle of the Open Hand will take care of Mira and Juno.”
∞∞∞
On the way back to Western Tower, Elio walked beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed with each step. Neither of us spoke much. There didn’t seem to be anything left to say that wouldn’t sound either too hopeful or too afraid.
When we entered our dormitory, the common room door was open, spilling warm yellow light into the corridor.
“There they are!” Dante called.
“Come in! We’ve been waiting for you!” someone else shouted.
We entered. I saw that someone had pinned Alara’s “Circle of the Open Hand” banner over the fireplace.
Candles flickered on every surface, their light softer and warmer than the harsh blue glow of the academy’s mage lights.
A long table in the center of the room was crowded with plates of bread, cheese, sliced cold meats, apples, and stacks of pastries, along with steaming pitchers of mulled cider.
My stomach growled. Thanks to the long hours of interrogation, I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.
And there, sitting in an armchair with a blanket draped over her knees and a mug cradled in her good hand, was Juno.
She saw me, and her face split into a wide smile.
“Took you two long enough,” she called. “We were wondering if Imperial Protection had sent you two off to Darkstone Academy.”
I felt a cold shiver run across my skin at her words. Despite her joking tone, I knew she’d been worried about us.
Despite its name, everyone knew that the Imperial Academy for the Magical Arts on Darkstone Island wasn’t a proper mage school at all.
It was actually a fortified prison, built on an otherwise-uninhabited island far to the south.
The students there were the high-born rejects from other academies and rogue mage-blood youths who’d tried to evade the law regarding training.
“Nah,” Elio replied with a crooked grin. “Darkstone’s only for the aristos.” He turned to me. “Think maybe they’d exile us to your islands, instead?”
“You’d need warmer clothes, Elio. And a pair of sheepskin-lined boots!” Mira laughed.
I crossed the room and dropped to my knees beside Juno’s chair. “I’m glad you’re finally out of the infirmary!”
She smiled. “All better now. See?” She pushed back the sleeve of her gown.
Mage-Healer Arsinoe and her staff had done their work well. The bruising along Juno’s newly healed arm had already faded from violent purple to a sickly yellow-green.
“Careful,” Mira said, joining us. She held a mug of her own, steam curling around her fingers. “She’s still mostly held together with spells and hope.”
“Spells and bandages,” Juno corrected. She patted the side of her stiff bodice with theatrical care. “I’m still sore, but it’s a lot better than it was.”
Around us, the Circle of the Open Hand, plus most of the Western Tower’s other residents, were gathered in groups. Mavia was deep in conversation with a pair of second-years by the fireplace, her hands sketching shapes in the air.
Alara held a small drum on her lap and was keeping beat, accompanying a third-year girl who was playing a set of reed pipes with more enthusiasm than skill.
I was touched that the Circle of the Open Hand had organized a victory celebration for Elio and me.
But the lingering questions about today’s match hung in the air like smoke. You could taste them in the pauses between sentences, see them in the way conversations faltered whenever anyone looked over at Elio or me.
Dante made his way over to us.
“They’ve got Lord Lukhan and Corvellan in protective custody,” he said without preamble. “Heard it from one of the dormitory cleaning staff who helped carry their things from their apartments to the guest quarters in the Administration Quad. They’re under guard ‘for their own safety.’”
The sick feeling in my stomach, which had temporarily receded on the walk over to the Western Tower, returned.
Assistant Chatelaine Julissa is going to pin this incident on us and use it as an excuse to disqualify Elio and me from the Aurelian Trials, and then expel me… and maybe him, too.
Mavia joined us. “I saw them leaving the amphitheater with their new security detail. Lukhan was shouting about sabotage and demanding an investigation. Damien just plodded along beside him. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. You could tell he was furious from his expression.”
“I heard Lukhan’s father apparently made a lot of enemies while he was on the Imperial Council,” Elio said. His amber eyes were thoughtful. “There are all kinds of rumors about why he suddenly resigned his position as High Minister of Foreign Affairs and retired to his estates at Demirkalé.
“Either way,” Varrix Carbo chimed in, “blaming sabotage for his loss gives Lord Lukhan the perfect excuse that he’s the victim of a heinous attack rather than someone who lost his match fair and square.”
Speculation piled on speculation as the conversation continued.
The sickness in my gut only grew stronger despite the bread and meat I ate, and the warmth of the cider.
Juno patted my arm.
“Stop thinking so loud,” she said. “I can hear your thoughts grinding from here.”
I managed a shaky smile for her. “Just tired. And a little—no, a lot—worried.”
She nodded solemnly. “Whatever happens next, we’ll figure it out together. That’s what sisters do.”
Around us, the celebration continued. Someone produced a guitar. The pipe-player abandoned her reed pipes for a fiddle.
Students pushed tables against the walls and cleared a space in the center of the common room, and a double line formed up for Youth and Maiden, one of my favorite dances.
Elio approached me and smiled down at me. The look in his eyes helped ease the sick anxiety that had been churning through me for hours.
“Dance with me,” he said. “Let’s enjoy the party before the world catches up with us again tomorrow.”
And for a few hours, whirling and stamping through the steps of familiar dances, with his hand in mine and laughter ringing through the room, I almost forgot the threat hanging over our heads.