Chapter Thirty
THIRTY
It’s been days since Tilly and I were caught outside the Noctis Ring. It took me all night to eventually swallow the guilt I felt over putting my friend in potential danger and all of the next day to decide that I will no longer walk around here unprotected.
While I may not have access to my element there are other means of defending myself if needed, and that is how I find myself eyeing up the shiny silver blades laid out on a long table against the wall. Their handles are wrapped in deep green leather, and their blades are at least seven inches long.
Nicks is leading the CNM class today in the Training Centre.
He’s walking back from the wooden target that’s been hung on the wall.
Sebastian and the other combat leaders have been sent off to train a group of second -years outside.
The room is rather quiet for once, seeing as it’s only our class here.
Something tells me this was planned, because Nicks is allowing first -year students to handle sharp pointy things and expecting us to throw them … with accuracy.
This should be fun. I’ve been practising throwing and handling the dagger I discovered in Lillian’s bag.
I know I shouldn’t have snooped, but once I found the weapon, I couldn’t help but marvel at its intricate beauty.
At the weight that felt so right in my hands.
I started practising throwing it at my bathroom door.
It’s not been very successful, but on the rare occasions the blade sticks into the wood, I feel a rush flood through me.
My jackets cover the door, so Lillian hasn’t noticed the blade marks hidden behind them, yet.
We’re supposed to earn the right to touch those weapons encrusted with malachite, but when you’ve had multiple near-death experiences and you’re stuck inside an academy of magic wielders …
the rules can kiss my ass. I need to defend myself, and I’ll do what it takes to do so.
Nicks gives the order for us to line up and explains the rules. We’ll be given three daggers each round to throw. He’ll tell us where we went wrong. And then we’ll go to the back of the line to wait for our turn all over again.
‘I expect you all to handle these weapons with care and respect. I also want to note that the student who hits the target the least number of times will not be attending the Imber Stellarum celebration in a few weeks’ time. Instead, they will be spending the evening here, cleaning.’
A loud chorus of groans erupt s around me, meanwhile I look around confused.
I turn to Isla Peters, my new partner since Moira, who is ahead of me, was placed into Lillian’s group.
The first day back into combat training was different.
Isla and I had only exchanged a few words, plus the strange encounter we had in the forest. But slowly, I think we’re beginning to find common ground.
She even helped me with my form two days ago when we were sparring and I was on offence.
It was only a passing comment, but I’ve taken it as a positive gesture.
‘What’s the Imber Stellarum celebration?’ I ask her, feeling like I’ve heard of it before, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it means.
Her sandy brows lift. ‘It’s the night we celebrate when our Stars founded Valmora. How do you not know this?’ she asks, surprise evident in her voice. ‘Did your parents never celebrate?’
Someone ahead of us has started throwing their daggers at the target. The sound of one clattering as it misses and falls to the ground reaches my ears.
‘Never,’ I tell her honestly. ‘They paid homage to Opalus each year on her day of death, but …’ I shake my head, wondering why they never celebrated this.
‘Don’t feel too bad. It’s basically an excuse for everyone to eat and drink to their heart s’ content under the guise of thanking the Stars for Falling and giving us this land.’
‘Next!’ Nick’s voice booms throughout the room, and my attention snaps back to the moving line ahead. A pissed off Cillian Foy stomps to the back of the line. Marcus gives him a friendly slap on the shoulder as he walks past.
I duck my head around the shoulders of students to look at the target. Much to my surprise, there’s not a single indent on it. Did he miss all of them? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Cillian fail anything. He’s at the top of the leaderboard for a reason.
There are three more students in front of me.
Moira is second and she also misses every single throw.
Though one does strike right beside the target, missing by mere inches and bouncing off the wall where it embeds itself into the foam mat below it.
Aiden Redford is next. He throws them in three rapid movements, landing two out of three, which earns him a loud cheer from the group and a nod of approval from Nicks.
Marcus is the last one before I step up.
I’ve been watching closely at the others’ techniques.
The way they hold the handle and the angle of their wrist as they throw each dagger.
Marcus grips the handle hard, and I observe intently as he shakes his shoulders out before bringing the blade up past his shoulder as if he’s about to throw a ball.
His shoulders rise and fall as he inhales and exhales before he lets the dagger fly from his hand, flicking his wrist. We all watch as it soars through the air only for the end of the handle to hit the target and then clatter to the floor.
‘Shit!’ Marcus mutters, reaching to the left to grab another dagger.
‘Try not to overextend your wrist,’ Nicks offers in encouragement. ‘The spin should come naturally from your grip. And put your dominant foot back.’
Marcus listens, placing his right foot back a step, and brings the dagger up once more.
This time when he throws, the dagger glides through the air more gracefully than it did the first time but still, it doesn’t connect with the target.
He tries again; the blade hits the outermost ring this time and holds.
A whoosh of air releases from his lungs in relief.
By the time Marcus has retrieved his daggers and returned to the line, my stomach is riddled with nervous energy. I step up to the mark and glance over at Nicks who’s already watching me with a curious expression.
‘Your turn, Nocthare.’ He gestures for me to begin before his pencil scratches something on the clipboard in his hand.
Okay, you’ve got this, Aria. You heard him, don’t overextend, dominant foot back. There was also something about not gripping it too hard? Or was it grip hard and not too soft? Stars, I don’t remember.
I mutter all these things to myself as I approach the table lined with daggers and cast my gaze over each of them.
They all look the same: same leather-covered handle, same shiny silver blade that looks sharp enough to cut through bone.
They would certainly do some serious damage if dragged across someone’s skin.
I feel eyes glaring into my back as my hand reaches out to hover over one of them, while I mentally count how many there are. Fifteen in total. If one of them happened to go missing would Nicks notice?
Suddenly, I’m debating sabotaging myself and purposefully failing at this, just so I’m forced to come here while everyone else is at the Imber Stellarum celebration.
It would be the perfect opportunity to get my hands on one of these blades.
But that means I’d have to wait weeks, and I don’t want to leave myself unarmed for that long.
No. I need to steal one of these, today. I just need to wait for the perfect opportunity to do it.
Someone yells out for me to hurry up and pick. I can’t decipher who it is but get the message and quickly snatch up the three closest to my right hand. I walk back to my mark and centre my focus on the target.
‘When you’re ready,’ Nicks encourages. ‘Remember to follow through with your arm. The blade should continue naturally in the direction of your throw.’
My feet move into position. I place my right foot back and bring one of the daggers up past my shoulder, right near the side of my head, just like I watched the others do.
My fingers squeeze the hilt before relaxing into a neutral hold.
The leather is cool against my palm, and I let the weight of it ground me, even as I hear Moira’s familiar snarky laugh from the middle of the line.
I exhale heavily and close my eyes, blocking thoughts of her from my head, using the anger I feel to fuel me instead of rattling me.
When I open my eyes again, it’s to watch the dagger leave my hand as I throw it forward.
It flips through the air four, no – five times before landing three inches from the centre of the target, hilt first, and clattering to the ground.
‘Woah, Nocthare. That almost hit the centre.’ Isla gives me an encouraging nudge from behind.
My lips purse as I glower at the dagger laying on the ground. Close to the centre is not good enough.
Determined to get this right, I don’t hesitate to move the second dagger to my throwing hand.
I get into position before looking toward Nicks for pointers.
His eyes roam over my stance before he hums in thought.
‘Take a step back, I think you’re too close.
Might be why your hilt hit the target instead of the tip. ’
I nod in compliance and do as he suggests.
I breathe in once again, imagining the dagger hitting the target.
I picture it cutting through the air and embedding itself into the centre.
I picture standing in my room facing the closed bathroom door.
There’s no one else around, no one watching or criticising me.
I’m. All. Alone.
I throw.
Holding my breath, I watch in shock as the dagger connects to the target with a loud thud, blade sinking deep into the outer ring. The handle slightly wobbles back and forth from the momentum. I expect it to clatter to the floor, but after several seconds, I realise it won’t.
‘Again,’ Nicks orders with a proud lift to his voice. Riding the high of hitting the target I toss my final dagger through the air just like I did before. But unfortunately, I miss, throwing a little too wide. The blade scratches against the stone wall as it joins my first dagger on the ground.
‘Must’ve been a fluke!’ Moira sniggers behind me.
‘How many did you get on your first try, Davis?’ Isla asks, turning Moira’s cheeks a deep shade of pink. I push my shoulders back and walk to retrieve my daggers, ignoring the death glare she sends my way. Look at me, I call that growth.
I stole one.
I did it.
I stole a dagger from Nicks at the end of the class when he pulled Aiden Redford aside to speak to him, probably to praise him for his success.
By the time we were on our fifth round, Aiden had managed to stick every single one of his daggers …
every time. He absolutely dominated the group and, by the end of it, all the students were looking at him in awe.
Even me. He was just so damn good at it.
Fluid and quick, it came to him like breathing.
Thud, thud, thud. His daggers dug thin slices into the target each time.
Isla whispered her theory that he must practise using them in his spare time. ‘There’s no way someone could get that good, that quickly,’ she stated.
I managed to stick to my quota of one successful throw each time. Which just downright pissed me off. The second I thought I had nailed it, I’d throw too wide, or too soft, missing the target or making the dagger spin so much that the hilt whacked against where the blade should have landed.
The thought of Aiden practising in his own time was just enough to push me over the precipice.
I walked along the table and slipped one of the daggers up my shirt and into the waistband of my pants.
My heart was racing a million miles a minute as I frantically scanned my surroundings to ensure no lingering eyes had glanced my way.
In fact, it was a little anti-climactic and I thought for a second that maybe I was being set up.
But seeing as I made it back to my room, managed to stuff the blade beneath the sink in the bathroom, then went to lunch with Tilly and Xavier, attended Elemental Magic class and returned to my room only to discover it’s right where I left it …
I’m beginning to think maybe I did just snatch it at the right time.
I’ve had a shower since I got back and changed into a pair of soft, pale blue cotton shorts and a long-sleeved matching top.
I push my damp hair out of my face and over my shoulder and reach up to draw a large circle on the back of my door with a piece of white chalk I found among the things I brought from home.
It’s almost funny that I thought I’d have time to draw and do normal hobbies at the academy.
Instead, here I am, using it to practise cutting the air with daggers. How my life has changed.
Within the large circle, I draw a smaller circle right in the middle and step back to admire my handy work. Perfect. I pick up the dagger on the end of my bed and step a good ten feet back from the door.
The weight of the dagger feels almost comforting in my hand as I hold it at my side.
I don’t know what it is, but it just feels right.
Almost more so than when I have a stave flipping over my shoulder or whizzing through the air as I twist it around my torso.
My skin warms the leather. I stand there, envisioning throwing it at the thick wooden door as I mull over every slice of advice Nicks gave me earlier.
I breathe slowly and relax my hold on the hilt as I bring it up near my ear, and with an exhale I fling my arm forward, letting the dagger fly from my hand.
As if time has slowed, I watch as the door opens and standing in the place of the target is Sebastian Zain.
My mouth opens in a silent scream as his eyes widen.
Just before the dagger finds purchase in the middle of his forehead, Sebastian reacts quicker than I can fathom and snatches it out of the air with his bare hand.
Blood immediately begins to pool from his closed fist where it’s wrapped around the blade. It oozes down his wrist in thick red rivulets until it drips to the floor in front of his boots.