Chapter 26 Taera
Taera
Two more days pass in a flurry of too-fast classes and silent, scathing glares.
My burning loss of dignity lingers, no matter how many times I remind myself it shouldn’t matter.
Pride won’t keep me alive. I have to leverage every tool at my disposal, even sucking up to Nikolai and pretending to be his personal source.
The memory makes my cheeks heat.
At least now I have an opportunity.
In case the glass games are dangerous, I focus on my secondary task.
I wrote the letter in my first moment alone, but I don’t trust Nikolai with it.
I keep it hidden in the pocket of my robes, class after class, trying to find another moment alone with Annie or Omi.
But the green-eyed magician is always at my side.
Tension coils in me the longer it takes to send the letter, and I sleep with it tucked under my pillow.
I’m surprised to wake on the third day to Nikolai already fully dressed—he’s lounging across his bed in a glossy red blouse and creamy fitted trousers. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in anything other than blue. His hair is damp and curling at the ends, a book lying open across his knees.
I don’t believe for a second he’s studying Color Theory, or whatever he told Master Koroy. Nikolai carries that book everywhere he goes, reading the same pages again and again.
Remembering why today is different, I exhale a shuddering breath. To escape, I need a better understanding of this place.
“The games start shortly,” Nikolai says.
I jump to my feet. My hands fly to my robes to make sure they’re proper—or as proper as the thin fabric can be. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Don’t worry, you still have time for breakfast.” He closes the mystery book, tossing it aside on the bed.
His casualness must be feigned. When he sleeps, or bathes, the book is nowhere to be found.
I know, I’ve looked. Either he must have it on him, or there are hiding spots in his bedroom I haven’t yet discovered.
Nikolai rises from the bed, and I take in his form-fitting attire.
My stomach squirms. He looks good. In beige pants and a billowing red shirt, he looks almost…
normal. If it weren’t for his sands-cursed face, his hair as brilliant as the sun, I wouldn’t believe this is the same illusionist and interminable liar who tricked me into thinking I would get to go home soon. My jaw hardens.
Breakfast arrives, the platter piled high with enough food for an entire family. I still won’t waste a morsel of it. Nikolai tends to pick off a few pieces of fruit and sometimes a pastry, then leaves the rest to me.
I smooth my hair and roll up my bedroll like I do every morning, waiting for him to finish. My mouth waters in anticipation.
“Join me?” he suggests.
I’m immediately uneasy with the change of routine, and my eyes dart between him and the food.
However, the steaming piles of oatcakes heaped with whipped cream and raspberries have me padding over.
I sit, gingerly, across from him on the bed.
Keeping my eyes down, I dart my hand forward to take an apricot.
Nikolai is reaching for a plum, and his ungloved fingers graze mine.
Energy flushes through my body and sparks ignite goosebumps up my arm. The intensity is almost painful, like the rush of freefall. It’s exhilarating, and my heart rushes to catch up.
Green eyes meet mine, wide with surprise. Then Nikolai laughs. The sound is as delightful as it is unexpected, catching me completely off guard.
“What?” I ask.
“You’d have made a hell of a source if I’d found you a few years earlier.”
I scowl. “I’m hardly old.”
“That’s not it.” His eyes crinkle with amusement. “Magic grows wild if you don’t train it when it emerges.”
I can’t decide whether it’s a compliment or an insult, so I just reach for the apricot again, more cautiously this time.
His voice quiets. “You don’t have to join the games today.”
“You don’t want me there?” I ask and take a bite of the fruit. The tang of magic in the air sharpens its tartness.
“Not really,” he murmurs, leaning back.
My lack of surprise pleases me. “Why?”
“It’s dangerous.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Really? I never would have guessed.”
“Fine.” His lips quirk up. “I don’t want you in my way.”
I shrug, aiming for careless bravado. “Then I’ll just go on my own.”
He cocks his head to the side. “I doubt that will go well for you.”
“Why?”
“Your accomplishments speak for themselves.”
I narrow my eyes. But if I can sit and breathe for a three-hour meditation, surrounded by magicians, I can resist his attempts to rile me.
“I want to get to know this place better,” I say, swallowing. “If I’m going to… fit in.”
“Yeah, sure.” He chuckles.
“What are the glass games, anyway?” I ask.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me anything more?” I glare at him.
“If we don’t show up together, Jezebel will talk,” Nikolai says. “But after the games get started, you can make all the bad decisions you like.”
“Fine.” This deal seems too simple, but I do feel safer with Nikolai than by myself. The thought makes me scowl. I hate depending on him, especially when half the words out of his mouth seem to be lies. But again, I can swallow my distaste if it means finding out what I need today.
“Ready?” Nikolai says, rising to his feet.
“One thing.” Swallowing, I retrieve the folded parchment from under my pillow—clasping my letter in sweaty hands. “A letter to my family. Can you send it? Just in case?”
He frowns. “What did you write?”
“None of your business.” I glower. I shouldn’t have asked him.
“You can’t send anything you like.”
Anger thrums in my chest. “You told me I won’t see them again for years.”
He shakes his head. “Secrets can’t leave this place.”
“Omi said I could write to them,” I say.
“You can.” He’s still frowning.
“You just said I can’t.”
“It depends.” He shrugs. “Let me see it.”
“No.” I clutch the letter to my chest.
“Then I won’t send it.”
I thrust the letter at him. He avoids my skin as he takes it, unfurling the parchment and revealing my scrawled writing. His frown deepens as he scans the page.
An unwanted pang of embarrassment strikes me, and I find myself explaining. “I had to use simple words to make sure they can read it.” I grit my teeth. “Satisfied?”
He shakes his head. “You can’t send this.”
I tighten my fists. “If you don’t send it, I’ll…”
He snorts. “Stare me to death?”
I try to keep from shaking. “I’m trapped here in this small, dark, horrible room with you and—”
Nikolai just stares at me. “What private hell have you created for yourself?”
Is he toying with me?
He gives me a quizzical half-smile. “Let me guess. You can’t even see the window.”
“What window?” I say, then bite my tongue. He’s taunting me; I won’t let him.
Nikolai comes around to my side of the bed. “Close your eyes.”
“I absolutely will not.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs, turning away.
“Wait,” I say, annoyed. “Why?”
“Haven’t you noticed yet? The ice when you’re afraid, blood glass when you’re angry, thousands of reflections when you’re embarrassed? The Halls reflect your reality, Taera.” He makes my name sound soft, appealing. I hate it. “Let me show you what I see. Do you trust me?”
“No.” The word comes out fast. I refuse to notice how his emerald irises twinkle when he’s this close, or how his lips curve with amusement.
What am I even thinking about? I hate this desert-damned magician.
“When you’re ready.” He offers his bare palm.