Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Nick and Abel join Olive and me as we leave the mess hall and walk one of the paths that cuts across the interior fields. A layer of puffy white clouds blots out the sun, suffocating the warmth and darkening the sky. If the sudden change in weather is a sign from Zeru, magic training is going to go about as good as I expect. The best case scenario is that the magic suppressant does its job and I have another weak showing in front of my peers. If the remedy fails, I might produce enough fire to wow an audience…and also burn that same audience to a crisp, which is one hell of a downside.
A chill snakes into my lungs. I wrap my arms around my waist, fighting off the flame-fueled memories licking at the edges of my mind. Up until now, the alchemist’s medicine has worked. There’s no reason to think that will stop. I need to remain calm, though. Out-of-control emotions can trigger unpredictable effects on magic, and I’d rather not put the suppressant to the test.
I follow my flight unit past the dragon aerie and the building behind it to a huge structure that backs up to a rocky cliff, the location undoubtedly chosen so fledglings could practice elemental magic without fear of destroying a building via an accidental gale of wind or rogue fireball. The gray stone walls, taller than any of the two-story structures, tower above us and curve to form shapes reminiscent of flower petals. This close to the ocean, the roar of waves is louder, their rhythmic crash and ebb amplified through the valleys and trails that dip between cliffs and offer glimpses of blue water and black sand.
Farther down, the eyril field nestles near a low valley, the waving, tentacle-like stalks whispering in the salty breeze. When I cock my head a certain way, I can almost hear words.
“Hey, Lark, you coming?”
I blink, surprised to find Olive and the others already at the arena entrance. Too much stress and not enough sleep.
I jog to catch up, and my eyes widen as we enter.
From this vantage point, the arena resembles a flower even more. From a circular, central arena, four huge oval-shaped areas branch out in each direction. Olive leads me to the closest petal, which plunges us into a lush world of green. Grass blankets the ground, tickling my ankles, and the air brims with fragrant perfume, courtesy of an explosion of flowers. Bees buzz, and butterflies zip from one colorful bloom to the next. A grove of umberheart trees explode with vibrant green and form leafy canopies.
I drag my fingers along the silky petal of a yellow and orange dragonflight flower, named for its resemblance to a dragon’s outstretched wings. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say this is where the earth elementals practice.”
Olive snickers. “Aren’t you a clever one.”
We hit the water elemental practice area next. Little pools of water bubble up from the earth. A small waterfall cascades down the rocky cliff into one of the pools, and a narrow stream gurgles the overflow away, curving until the water disappears back beneath the boulders.
A gap in the cliff for the next arena allows wind to tunnel in off the ocean and sweep through the cut-outs high on the opposite wall. Flags and pinwheels decorated in Aclaris colors flutter and spin.
Olive slows her pace. “This is my stop. You’re the next one. Instructor Resnick has us stick with our elemental group for warm-ups to build up our magic, and then we usually get together for training exercises with the entire class. Good luck.”
My stomach tumbles and dives as I confront the open doorway leading to the fire arena. “Thanks. Guessing I’ll need it.”
Pressing a hand to my turbulent belly, I offer up a silent prayer to Vaya, Goddess of Fire, before squaring my shoulders and marching to the final practice space to join the other magic wielders. Though calling myself a magic wielder is something of a stretch considering the one time I wielded more than a negligible amount of fire was both accidental and an unmitigated disaster.
Several other fledglings already populate the large space, which boasts heavy bronze sconces spaced out along the walls, each topped by a flickering flame. Oversized bulls-eye targets hang above eye level from the wall. Unlike the other arenas, a thin sheet of sand makes up the groundcover here. Save for the black splotches sprinkled in spots, child-sized, blue-gray urns that sprout flames provide the only relief from the monotony. The realization that those scorch marks likely signal fire gone awry does nothing to tame my fluttering nerves.
Neither does spotting Elijah sauntering into the training area. Theo strolling in behind him is a more welcome sight.
“Okay, everyone, let’s get started on drills. And please, for the love of the gods, remember to put on a robe first so we can avoid another unfortunate incident like last week. Right, Fledgling Zeen?”
Laughter follows as I turn toward a brown-skinned man with twinkling eyes. He’s shorter than me, slight of build, and exudes a quiet confidence and humor that immediately puts me at ease.
The subject of his gentle rebuke, a gangly male student with carrot-colored hair and too many freckles to count splattered across his pale cheeks, winces and rubs an angry pink pucker across his neck. “Right, Instructor Resnick.”
Theo grins and slaps another fledgling on the shoulder. “I’ve got you covered, Soron.”
He hustles over to a cabinet in the corner that I missed on my initial inspection, withdraws a swathe of dark, shiny fabric, and tosses it to Soron. Huh. Now that I’m looking, I notice the other fledglings wearing or donning long-sleeved garments that skim their bodies and fall all the way to their boots. Fire-resistant, certainly. A very sensible safety precaution that never occurred to me before.
Not wanting to get caught without an outer layer that could prevent me from getting cooked like a hunk of fleetjac on a spit, I head for the cabinet.
Theo winks as he passes. “Glad you’re breaking up our sausage party, Axton. This is my chance to see how hot I can get you.”
I groan. “If terrible puns like that are what I can look forward to, I may defect to join the earth elementals.”
He gasps and clutches his chest. “You wound me.”
His antics bring a smile to my face. Cringey jokes or not, I’m happy he’s here to help balance out the haters, because the stocky guy with the shaved head scowling at me from Elijah’s side doesn’t seem to be my biggest fan.
I get Theo’s comment about a boys’ club now. Apart from me, all the fire wielders appear to be men.
The robe I grab is heavier than I expect. Prettier too. The garment glimmers and sparkles against the sun’s touch.
Resnick approaches. “The material’s treated with melted dragon fat to help fireproof it.”
He just had to go and ruin the moment.
I try my best not to form a visual. “That’s…kind of gross.”
His mouth tips into a faint smile. “Perhaps, but necessary. Sometimes things can get a little wild during training.” Cocking his head, he taps a finger against his chin. “To clarify, you’re Fledgling Lark Axton, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, good. I assumed as much, but once I took a good gander at you, I thought it best to confirm. You and your sister don’t resemble each other much.” His shoulders droop. “I’m sorry about Leesa. She’s one of my favorite pupils. You and your family must be out of their minds with worry… I hope you get good news soon.”
Emotion clogs my throat. He’s the first instructor to express genuine sorrow over Leesa’s disappearance. “Thank you, sir. I hope so too.”
When moisture fills my eyes, I bite my cheek to stop the tears from falling. As I regain my composure, Resnick kindly turns away and rummages through the cabinet to produce a robe for himself. “Go ahead and get suited up.”
I slip into the garment, surprised by the lightness of the fabric.
Resnick waves us forward. “Follow me.” He leads me to a human-shaped burlap sack that hangs from a hook. Fabric wings dangling from the figure’s back leave no illusions about the identity of the intended target. “Okay, then. Let’s see what you can do.”
More than one pair of eyes watch as I dive deep inside myself to seek the place where my power dwells. As expected, the magic suppressant smothers my fire, forcing me to dig and scrape for the faintest hint of a spark. It feels like my magic is trapped at the bottom of a dark sea with no way to rise to the surface.
Whispers kick up. Snickers about my weakness. I want to ignore the insults, but it’s hard when they feed into the same narrative my mother’s given me for as long as I can remember.
Gritting my teeth, I dive into the well where my power exists, tunneling and grasping until, at long last, I sense the tiniest spark. My blood warms. My fingertips crackle. A small, nearly translucent flame flares, only to vanish in the next heartbeat.
I breathe hard while Resnick frowns. “That’s a start, but you’re not there yet. You’ll need to generate more power to create a fireball.”
I’d accuse him of sarcasm if he didn’t appear so serious. “A fireball. Sure. I’ll get right on that.” My heavy breathing has officially turned into panting and sweat streams down my body in multiple places.
“Are you sure that’s the best you can do?”
Resnick graces me with a hopeful expression, like maybe I’m faking my poor performance. Guilt pinches me, because in a roundabout way, I suppose I am. I wish I didn’t need to. It’s not as if I get off on his disappointment or the scorn of my peers.
“Weakling.” Elijah scoffs, elbowing me out of the way. “I’ll show you how a real Aclaris patriot takes down the fucking Tirenese.”
Assuming the stance of a conquering king, Elijah creates a fireball the size of a cantaloupe in his hand. He hurls the elemental weapon at the burlap Tirenese warrior, striking him in the chest.
“Good job, Durand. Power and precision.” Resnick applauds and slants me a sympathetic look. “The first few times can be a little tricky. Try drawing from the existing fire until you get the hang of it.”
I slink over to an empty spot by a big urn, as far from the others as possible. Resnick and the other fledglings are probably wondering how I managed to pass the king’s minimal magic requirement. I’d love to hear the answer myself. It doesn’t seem possible that the tiny bit of fire the tester witnessed met the typical standard for entry to Flighthaven, so why approve me? Does Aclaris have a shortage of fire wielders?
“Look, she can’t even summon fire directly from a source. Her sister was a sharp-tongued whore, but at least she wasn’t useless.”
Anger ignites in my belly. I raise my head to target Elijah with a glare, almost wishing I had access to my magic so I could incinerate him on the spot. “Don’t badmouth Leesa.”
Elijah elbows his bald buddy. “What do you say, Milton? Should we stop badmouthing Leesa?”
Milton lifts his hands and leers. “What are you gonna do about it if we don’t?”
One at a time, sparks form between his palms, his face a mask of concentration as he grunts. Slowly, he spins the sparks into a red flickering ball. Smaller than Elijah’s, and the production cost him more effort. Still better than I can do, and they both know it.
I edge backward and scour the arena for our instructor.
Elijah laughs. “If you’re looking for Resnick, don’t bother. He likes to wander off to watch the other elementals.” With ease, he summons a fireball. “Torno isn’t here to save you either.”
An alarm bleats inside my head. “What are you doing?”
“We practiced on stationary targets. Now we’re ready for moving ones.” Milton steps closer, rotating his shoulder back like he’s preparing to throw a dagger. “Go on, weakling. Move!”
My muscles coil. I don’t wait for him to launch the fireball. I fling myself to the side, tucking into a somersault as heat blazes past overhead.
Panting, I rise to a crouch. Thank the gods that Kelvin, an old guard we had for several years before he left to get married, humored a lonely teenager and taught her a few evasive techniques. And that I was bored enough to practice those moves in my room.
My pulse speeds, and deep within me, my fire reawakens from its slumber. Yawns. Opens one drowsy eye. Rumbles and tugs on the restraints locking it down.
Flames. People screaming. Horses shrieking in pain.
Grinding my teeth, I work to tame my rising emotions. To smother the swirling vortex of anger and fear urging my power to come out and play. My head spins, and I stumble a little as the dizziness takes hold. I hate that my body is proving them right.
Ziva’s flames, this sucks. I want nothing more than to collapse on my bed and rest. “Why are you doing this? Aren’t we all supposed to be on the same side?”
“We’re on the same side,” Milton gestures between him and Elijah, “but you’re probably a Tirenese lover like your traitor of a sister. She could have had a real man. Elijah tried, but she sneered at him like he was beneath her. Probably horny for a pair of wing?—”
Face blotching, Elijah punches Milton in the shoulder and hisses. “Shut up!”
As the pieces start to click, the materializing picture confounds me. “Are you saying…is that the reason you have it in for me? Because you’re embarrassed my sister turned you down for a date ?”
His face reddens even more. “Not a date. I was bored and looking for a fuck, that’s all! It’s not like I liked her or anything.”
A couple of heartbeats pass, and then I burst into laughter. I can’t help myself. The absurdity of the situation kills me. Is this what I missed out on, all those years I longed to be around people my age and one day meet someone to date and marry? Men who throw hissy fits and lash out because a woman told them no? Even toddlers can learn that concept. If Elijah and Milton represent the prospects out there, then I’d rather remain unattached and unmarried for the rest of my days. Better lonely than trapped with a man who can’t handle rejection.
A fireball races toward me. I lunge out of the path, but not fast enough. The flame punches me in the shoulder, blasting the left side of my face and neck with heat. The cloak saves my skin from burning, but the impact hurt, and an acrid odor wrinkles my nose. With a gasp, I reach for my hair. A few tendrils that escaped my braid come free in my hand, blackened and charred.
Fury crashes through me, tearing at the shroud that locks my magic in place. My fire pushes, straining for freedom from the other side. Digging my nails into my palms, I battle to remain in control, but the elemental magic slips through tiny cracks and races through my blood. My hands warm.
Distraction. I need a distraction. “You called Leesa a Tirenese lover. Why? Did you see her with someone? Or did you just make it up to soothe your fragile ego? And none of this should matter, anyway. We’re all here for Aclaris. We should put aside our differences and work together.”
Wrong thing to say, going off Elijah’s snarl. “I’ll never work with you, weakling.”
Another fiery ball hurtles at my face, and fear chokes me. I move, but I know I won’t be quick enough.
Closing my eyes against the glare and bracing for pain, I fling myself to the side. Time passes. Nothing happens.
I open my eyes to find the ball hovering less than an arm’s length from my nose. Only now it’s a crystalline mix of blue and white. Ice. Someone transformed the ball into ice.
Whirling, my eyes meet a pair of gold-flecked ones. A scowl mars his sculpted features, and the temperature around us plummets. Someone yelps. I turn to find Elijah and Milton shaking out hands that appear crusted with a layer of tiny diamonds.
Milton swipes at the sparkles with no success. “Stop! It’s so cold, it’s burning my skin.”
Instructor Thorne coated their hands with ice.
Unperturbed by Milton’s reaction, Thorne tilts his head. His lazy smile brims with malice, revealing sharp teeth behind a thin veneer. “What, isn’t burning each other the point of this exercise?”
“No, we’re still doing warm-ups! Not mock battles!”
“Then why were you lobbing fireballs at Fledgling Axton when I walked up?”
Neither Milton nor Elijah fall for Thorne’s silky-toned ruse. They both take a nervous step back.
With sweat dripping down his temples and lips white with pain, Milton breaks first. “We were just goofing around. It was nothing.”
Thorne’s raised eyebrow implies he knows they’re full of shit. Not an ounce of compassion or concern infiltrates his expression. Not even when their fingertips purple.
I wonder why they don’t use their fire magic to counteract Thorne’s ice. Then I notice Elijah’s biceps straining and his fingers curling and realize they can’t. Thorne’s power must completely override their magic.
My skin pebbles at the thought. I shift my feet. “I think they got the message. We’re good here. You can stop whatever you’re doing.”
No reaction. Elijah moans. “My hands. I need my hands!” Beneath the ice crystals, the purple from his fingertips creeps up past his second knuckle.
I shove myself in front of Thorne so he can’t pretend not to hear me. “Can you please stop? Please. They’re going to lose their fingers otherwise.”
Thorne’s gaze flickers to me. “Do you care?”
What kind of question is that? “Of course! Yes,” I hiss.
With a bored sigh, he twitches his hands. The ice vanishes. “If you want to keep your fingers, I suggest rubbing them until they’re pink again.” When my hazers start to do just that, he barks. “Somewhere else.”
Elijah and Milton take off. I’m not proud of the satisfaction that rises over the visual of them scurrying off like frightened rabbits, but I don’t beat myself up for the pleasure either.
Smiling, I face my unexpected savior, feeling a little bad about misjudging him. He can’t be all that terrible if he rescued me from those creeps. “Thank you for stepping in. I?—”
His nostrils flare, and he grips my upper arms. “What are you trying to prove?”
My smile falters. “What do you mean? I was trying to warm up like Resnick said, and then those two came and?—”
His grip tightens. “Not that. Why are you holding back your magic and wasting time trying to make them like you?”
I gawk. He couldn’t possibly know about my magic, could he? To be on the safe side, I skirt the first question and focus on the second. “I wasn’t trying to make them like me. I was just…”
His eyes narrow. “Just what?”
Swallowing hard, I search for an answer, but it’s difficult to think clearly with Thorne standing this close to me. Especially when he’s clutching me with those big hands, intoxicating me with his scent of leather, soap, and the faintest hint of spice. Even angry, he’s beautiful, and my body can’t decide if I’m scared, mad, turned on…or a weird combo of all three.
That last thought makes me want to kick myself. This is what happens when young adults spend too much time in isolation. When they finally spring their cages, all that built-up hunger for interaction with people their age makes even the assholes look desirable. “I was just appealing to their common sense, since we’re on the same side. And besides, so what if I want them to like me. What’s so wrong about that?”
He growls in response. I huff. “Now who needs to use their words?”
“Not everyone is worth your time.” His pointed look indicates he’s including me in this category. “And if you don’t want people attacking you, quit proving them right and do something to stop them.”
Of all the… “Thanks for pointing out the obvious. Don’t you think I’m trying?”
“No.”
Seething, I curl my hands into fists. “I take back what I said about you earlier. I didn’t misjudge you at all. You’re every bit as terrible as I believed. Worse, even.”
“You never said anything about misjudging me.”
I pause. He might be right. “Well, I did in my head. But the point is, I was wrong. You really are a miserable fu…jerk.”
His silence cools my anger, which gives way to regret. Now I’ve gone and done it. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t assign me much worse punishments than cleaning out the stable. Guilt surfaces too. Jerk or not, he did run Elijah and Milton off. Then he went and ruined his good deed by opening his mouth.
I brace for a tongue lashing. Instead, he nods. “Better.”
I stare like he sprouted a second head. “Better? I just insulted you.”
“Yes. And if you’re insulting someone, you’re not debasing yourself trying to gain approval.”
Every time he opens his mouth, it gets worse. If I could get away with it, I’d knee him in the family jewels. “Debasing?” My voice rises by several octaves.
A commotion from the central arena spares me from another infuriating comment. In the midst of people shouting, someone yells for an instructor.
With a reluctant glance in that direction, Thorne releases me. I tag along behind him as he stalks toward the disturbance. The screaming grows louder, and a fledgling bursts into view. He races across the sand, sobbing. One hand rips at his hair, while the other claws at his face. Too many angry red scratches to count crisscross his skin, oozing blood.
A group of fledglings chases after him. “Someone grab his hands so he quits hurting himself,” one says.
Helene shakes her head. “If you’re so eager, be my guest. The last person who tried in a situation like this ended up in the infirmary from bite wounds.”
Situation like what, I wonder. Has this happened before?
The fledgling takes a sharp turn and charges toward Thorne and me. “Please, someone make them shut up. They’re loud and terrible and I can’t hear myself think . I can feel it inside me, laughing and rotting. Get it out! Out!” He yanks at his hair again and pulls out a chunk.
“What’s happening?”
Without answering, Thorne grunts and approaches the fledgling. The student drops to the ground, writhing in the sand while alternating between laughter and sobs. “Get it out. Get it out!” He rakes his nails down his arms, drawing more blood.
Resnick races to the scene. Somehow, he and Thorne manage to calm our classmate enough to pick him up.
Once Resnick has a secure grip on the fledgling’s feet, he hollers at the rest of us. “Unless you want to practice on your own, class is dismissed for today.”
The fledgling whimpers as the instructors carry him from the arena.
Heart hammering, I find Olive in the crowd. “What in the hells was that?”
Olive’s lips dip at the corners. “That’s what happens when you overdose on eyril.”