Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A bright, cloudless moon and late arrivals on campus—probably additional people to help with the trial—thwart my attempt to break into the records room that night. When I narrowly avoid getting busted, I cut my losses and creep back into the dorm.
The next night is a wash too. A few days pass before better luck comes my way. Thick cloud layers shroud the moon, and I don’t encounter anyone on the way to the administrative building or in the halls leading to the records room. Today, most of the trial prep seemed focused either on the outer edge of campus or off campus grounds, leaving this area quieter than usual.
I worried that the locks here might prove trickier than the ones I conquered at home, but with a little focus and jiggling, my hairpin tumbles the mechanism with a soft click. I ease the door open, my skin prickling as I scan the pitch-black room. Doubts root me in place.
This could be my most hair-brained idea yet. It’s not too late to turn around. Before a guard pounces on me and tosses me in a holding cell. Or I can continue down my current course of action, which is almost certainly a fool’s errand. If I’m really lucky, when they catch me they’ll send me to the king’s dungeon to share a cell with the Kamorian assassin. Maybe he’ll tell me why he wants me dead just before he slits my throat.
I will my thundering heart to slow. Foolish plan or not, I’m committed. Turns out, in this case, curiosity and desperation trump legitimate fear.
Decision made, I sneak inside the room, stilling as a shiver dances across the nape of my neck.
Is someone watching?
I hold my breath and tip my ear toward the cracked door.
One.
Two.
Three.
Nothing.
No more waiting. I reach for the handle to close the door?—
A hand snakes out and grabs my wrist.
Shit. Air punches from my lungs as my body tenses.
“Easy. It’s just me.”
Sterling slips inside and eases the door shut.
Pretty sure that just shaved a year off my life.
“What the hells are you doing?” I hiss. “You’re lucky I didn’t light you on fire.”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m helping make sure you don’t land yourself in hot water.” A tiny ever-light flares, spilling a dim glow into the inky room. “And forget me…what the hells are you doing? Wait, let me guess…you were out going for a walk and wanted to check on the records.”
Embarrassment rises over his pointed reminder of my previous excuse. “None of your business. How did you know I’d be here, anyway? Are you spying on me?”
“If by spying you mean I overhead you asking one of the other fledglings what they knew about the security in this building, then sure.”
“Oh.”
“‘Oh,’ is right. You’re lucky I’m the one who heard and not someone else.”
“Am I, though?” I mutter.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” I grind my teeth. “Look, if you’re here to talk me out of this, you might as well leave now.”
His beleaguered sigh strengthens my desire to kick him. “If I thought there was a snowball’s chance in hells of you listening to reason, I would, but I know better. Like I said, I’m here to make sure you don’t get caught doing whatever it is you think you need to do. You’d better hurry, though. The longer we’re here, the more likely we are to get caught.”
That takes the wind out of my sails. “Then quit talking to me so I can get to work.”
Using the ever-light, I head straight for the set of wooden file cabinets lined up against the wall. I make short work of the locks and start rummaging.
The drawers contain a series of folders arranged alphabetically. The first one dates back to students who attended five years ago. Moving on, I open and close several drawers until I locate Leesa’s year.
“Find anything?”
“Almost.” I thumb through the As to Axton. “Here we go. Leesa’s file.” I tug out the folder, sit cross-legged on the floor, and begin to read.
Shadows flicker over his face. “Don’t get too comfortable. We need to?—”
“Hurry, I know, I know. I heard you the first time. Also, not a complete idiot.”
“Are you sure about that? Because if you’re asking my opinion?—”
“I’m not. Also, shh. I can’t hurry if you keep interrupting me.”
I can sense him seething as he towers over me with the ever-light like an angry god but do my best to ignore him. I flip through Leesa’s file, finding what I expected. Family and medical history, magical element and projected power level, and instructors’ notes on her excellent service. Nothing that points to her concerns about dragons or anything else. Nothing at all out of the ordinary, except for a summary at the end about her disappearance.
I glance over at Sterling.
He leans toward me, worry in his eyes. “What did you find?”
“Your evaluations of Leesa. Thanks for thinking so highly of her.”
“She deserved it.” His mouth crooks up. “I wasn’t being kind.”
“Gods forbid I’d ever accuse you of that.”
He huffs. “Hurry. We’re already pushing our luck.”
Once I finish scanning Leesa’s file, I return it and hunt for my own. Like my sister’s, the first few pages document my family and medical history. Unlike Leesa’s, my medical history holds a lengthy list of my various ailments over the years. My brow wrinkles. A very lengthy list. Almost as if my mother took extra care to document every significant dizzy or weak spell over my entire life. Except I don’t recall seeing a healer or medic nearly that much.
The family history section reads much the same, with the exception of one small detail. A question mark follows my mother’s and father’s names.
Does that mean someone at Flighthaven has the same questions I do about my true parentage?
I skim the instructor evaluations. My face burns as I read Kinneck’s accurate but awful appraisal from my first week of class. Based on his remarks, a reasonable person would have expected Bigley to punt me to Forthaven to join the foot soldiers.
Celeste Dawson, my weapons combat instructor, leaves kinder comments about my skills with a bow and arrow and quick progress with other weapons. Maybe she’s the reason I didn’t get kicked out my first week.
Digging deeper into my file, I come upon Sterling’s assessments. My first reaction is to ignore them and avoid any hurt. Curiosity overcomes my reluctance. I want to know what he thought of me in the beginning.
To my astonishment, there’s nothing in there about my abysmal performance when I started out or about my fear of alicorns and flying. In fact, he only wrote two lines total.
Given Axton’s aptitude with weapons and her remarkable improvement in flying skills, she’ll be an asset to Flighthaven and the King’s Flyers.
No unusual or rare skills/abilities noted.
That second line strikes me as a bit peculiar. I don’t recall Leesa’s evaluation from Thorne noting unusual skills or lack thereof, but maybe he just had more to say about her overall. Taken on its own, I might even be offended. Luckily the first part overrides any insult.
I reread the end of the first line. An asset to Flighthaven and the King’s Flyers .
My chest warms as I turn to Sterling. “Do you really mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“Your evaluation of me, where you said I’d be an asset.”
Leaning over my shoulder, he swears under his breath. “Quit reading that shit and find what you’re looking for. We don’t have time for this.”
“Okay, okay, sheesh.” By his alarmed tone, you’d think I caught him bad-mouthing me rather than saying something nice. Although, with him, that’s probably the issue. He’s more comfortable dishing out insults than compliments.
With my focus back on my file, I flip to the end of the folder. “Do you think?—”
Thorne covers my mouth with his palm. “Shh. Listen.”
At first, I hear nothing. Then I catch a faint creak creak .
Nerves turn my fingers into noodles. The file slips from my hand and slaps the floor, the noise an explosion to my ears in the otherwise quiet room.
Crouching, I snatch the file and cradle it to my chest. Thorne’s glare is the last thing I see before he douses the light. In the darkness, we wait. Sweat dampens my palms. My heartbeat drums in my ears.
The creaking grows louder. Footfalls, I think. They approach the door and pause outside.
Sterling pulls me to a door in the far corner, which opens into a storage closet. The space is so tight, we’re pressed together.
The doorknob rattles. Teeth clenched, I try to recall if we locked the room from the inside. A metal noise sounds, then the slight whoosh of the door being opened.
A bead of sweat slips down my back as someone enters the room.