Chapter Nine
NINE
Lillian’s words echo in my mind as my feet carry me up the narrow, winding staircase, around and around the outer edge of the tower.
I pass the first door, then the second, and finally reach the third.
My thighs burn from the incline of each step, and I’m grateful that no one else has come up or down to witness me holding the stone wall for leverage as I ascend the last few stairs.
My breathing is heavy and uneven, and sweat beads at my temples.
I now understand how everyone in Malachite gets so fit. It’s because they must walk these starsdamn stairs all the time.
Slowly, I reach for the door handle, and I push my way inside. I’m met with a short hallway with six more doors running on either side of it.
First door on the left, I remind myself.
It’s a simple wooden door. There is nothing special about it, no significant marks or details that make it stand out from the rest. Plain, brown, normal. Yet my throat tightens.
Lukas.
For a second I let myself pretend that he’s still in there.
It’s so quiet because he’s sleeping after a gruesome training session.
I don’t want to wake him just yet, but I’m so excited to see him, because I’ve missed him.
My big brother. I’ll be quiet, I won’t wake him, not yet.
Maybe I’ll just gently sit at the end of his bed until he wakes up. He’s very tired.
As if pulled by an invisible string, I reach for the handle and turn. It opens with a groan and, with careful deliberate steps, I make my way inside.
Chaos. That is the first word that comes to mind as I stand among all the belongings I’d packed in my suitcase. Everything has been thrown across the room, and is now strewn about haphazardly, littering every surface. Clothes, shoes, books. My things are everywhere.
The door closes behind me with a heavy thud.
On legs that feel numb, I walk slowly around my belongings until I reach the bed.
I reach out and run my fingers through the charred pile of burnt fabric laying on top of it, filling the air with the scent of smoke and ash.
Holes have been burnt into what I assume was once a blanket.
Even the pillow at the far end of the bed lays in the heap of blackened feathers.
My hands begin to shake as I look down and spot my fingers stained with ash. Anger and pain twist around each other like two snakes battling it out for dominance.
They burnt my bedding.
They emptied my suitcase.
They trashed my room – my brother’s room.
They couldn’t even let me have this without spreading their hatred all over it. Out of everything they have already done to me, said to me, said about me. This has to be the worst thing so far.
Something between a sob and gasp gets stuck in my throat as I sink to my knees.
It took me a few hours to pick everything up from the floor, place my clothes into the chestnut dresser and find places for my books, shoes and other knick-knacks I brought from home.
I even found a map of the academy that they must provide students, in a crumpled heap in the corner of the room.
It’s now flattened in between two of my heaviest books, trying to get the creases out of it.
The bed took the most time.
Scooping up the shreds of burnt fabric, ashen piles and crispy feathers was slow work.
I couldn’t do anything about the charred stain on the mattress, nor could I help the smell of soot that clung to it.
So I wiped it as best as I could then flipped the mattress over, glad to find the other side intact without a single burn mark in sight.
With nothing left to do, I head back down the stairs to the common area.
It’s late afternoon now, so I’m expecting to face at least a handful of students.
I reach the door to the common area and find it slightly ajar.
My hands are full, so I kick the door open.
It cracks against the wall loudly, causing several heads to turn my way.
Malachite students lounge over chairs and sofas, all gathered around the fireplace.
Perfect.
One of them is Lillian. She’s seated in the chair furthest away from the fireplace, so at least she’ll get out unscathed. She isn’t my target, they are.
Their discussion is cut short as I stalk over to the group of them. Lillian quirks a pierced brow as I approach; whatever she sees in my face has her eyeing the bundled-up fabric in my arms with curiosity.
‘What’s that?’ A second - or maybe third -year student asks, spread out on a high back chair. ‘Something wrong with your bedding, Nocthare?’ The brown-haired student next to him laughs.
Ha-fucking-ha.
‘There is actually.’ I feign a look of innocent confusion.
‘You see, I walked into my room and found it had been burnt. So do you know what?’ I ask the room rhetorically.
‘I thought since you all love to burn shit so much, maybe you’d enjoy this.
’ I spin on my heel and toss the pile of scraps into the open fireplace and quickly leap out of the way as a gust of flames bursts up and out of the furnace.
The sleep-aid oils I poured onto the fabric earlier are swallowed up by the flames in seconds, the effect like pouring gasoline on an open flame.
‘Holy shit!’ one of them yells.
‘My pants!’ Something clatters to the floor. ‘They’re on fire!’
‘Put it out! Hurry the fuck up, it’s spreading,’ another shouts.
The last thing I hear before I dart out of the stone entryway is Lillian’s throaty laugh.
With a smile on my face and adrenaline pumping through my veins, I pull the black hood over my head and tuck my hands into the front pockets of my jacket. I quickly walk past the dais, hoping that I can get in and out of where I need to go without being noticed.
My stomach growls, rumbling in hunger. I haven’t eaten since I arrived and I’m finally starting to feel the effects of it.
I head toward a set of double doors to the left of Malachite’s gate.
I didn’t notice them during the ceremony because they had been closed.
That, and my mind was somewhat occupied.
The door is heavy as I slip quietly inside.
Loud chatter assaults my ears from every direction.
The last vestiges of sunlight peek through the large windows on either side of the room, but it’s the brass chandeliers that hang from the ceiling illuminating most of the dining hall.
The candles nestled among the curves and bends of metal cast a soft glow that flickers every so often.
Beneath those chandeliers are three long tables.
At first, I assume there is one table for each unit, but I quickly notice that no one seems to stick to just one side.
Instead, students are milling around, moving back and forth.
I spot a girl I know to be in Opal sitting beside another student in a green shirt much like the one I’m wearing beneath my jacket.
The Opal student sends a blast of water from her palm across the table toward another student, causing him to fall off his seat.
His entire front is saturated, as is his face which crinkles in amusement as he pulls himself back into his chair.
At the far end of the room lies another large table, running horizontal to the rest of them. This table is piled high with silver dishes of bread rolls, meats and something that smells so sweet it makes my mouth water.
My parents are good cooks, especially my mother. But I don’t think I’ve ever smelled this coming from the kitchen at home.
I make my way further into the room, keeping my head down and feeling very conscious of any eyes that flit to me in between conversations.
I make it to the food table and stuff two bread rolls into my pockets, before grabbing a handful of grapes, popping one into my mouth.
Then, because it just smells too good, I snatch a piece of glazed ham that practically melts on my tongue as I hurry back through the doors.
The rich flavour of the ham is still dancing on my tastebuds when I make it back into the Grand Hall. I would have liked to have filled a plate, but sitting in there among everyone else wasn’t something I wanted to subject myself to. I’ll make do with my bread rolls and grapes, for now.
The wind is chilly outside, but that doesn’t stop me from walking across the lawn, further away from the academy where I hope to find some peace and quiet.
I go past the Training Centre, toward the sound of waves crashing against rocks.
The ocean is loud and roaring in the distance, and once I spot a crop of trees, I head over to them.
A gust of wind catches in my hood, flipping it off my head and tousling the loose strands of my hair around my face. I settle down at the base of one of the trees and lean my back against its rough trunk, taking out my bread rolls to start pulling them apart with my fingers.
I listen to the thundering crash and hiss of the waves below as I eat.
The setting sun bleeds colours across the horizon, warm tangerine to soft crimson.
Once I finish eating, my arms wrap around myself and I watch as the sun slowly disappears, the warm hues getting swallowed up by the cool blue and grey tones of the moon’s ascent.
Just as I feel myself relaxing and being able to breathe a little easier, a voice behind me interrupts.