Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
KIERAN
Iscowled to myself, watching the seconds tick by on the clock above my door at Elder Guard headquarters.
Kicking my feet up on my desk, I used the edge of a knife to clear the grit from beneath my fingernails, wishing this morning would just hurry the fuck up and give way to a far more pleasant afternoon.
Arken had left my arms around ten this morning, and loath as I was to admit it, I was almost angry with her for leaving.
Almost. I wasn’t that much of a bastard.
Even so, it had been torture to let her go.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna skip class tomorrow, Little Conduit?” I asked her last night, mostly teasing. “I’m sure we could get Fen to write you a note and get you out of exams for another week or two…”
“Tempting,” she’d sighed in my arms. “So very tempting, but no. I can’t. Even if I did skip the exam, I can’t miss tomorrow’s lecture.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
Arken had proceeded to explain, in great detail, how she had developed an academic rapport with Scholar Ezra Thompson after a lecture in the Irrosi Arboretum, bonding over their mutual fascination with majestic mycelium.
As it turned out, her enthusiasm had earned her a rare offering: a small-group lecture with Scholar Larkin and Scholar Thompson today, followed by a private tour of the Arboretum’s research facilities, delving deeper into the cutting-edge work that Ezra was doing on behalf of the Studium’s Bios department.
“Larkin says they put together a whole presentation for me,” she had sighed. “I would feel like such an asshole if I didn’t show. I can’t waste their time and efforts like that. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Of course,” I’d murmured. “I understand.”
Internally, though, I had been…struggling. I had known she had a lecture coming up that she was excited about, as she’d mentioned it earlier in the week. I hadn’t realized it would be such an intimate affair. Without realizing it, Arken only dug the blade in deeper.
“Besides, I think I might go work for him next year,” she said, her golden gaze sparkling with hope.
“Scholar Thompson mentioned he’ll be opening up a research assistant position soon, and that would meet the Studium’s standards for second-years to earn my stipend and whatnot.
I’d lose some free time on weekends, but gods, can you imagine?
I’d get to be part of, like…true scientific discovery. About mushrooms! Mushrooms.”
Meanwhile, my heart had begun a vicious game of tug-of-war between a genuine desire to celebrate this with her, legitimately happy to see her so enthused and excited…and the darkening shroud of jealousy that threatened to engulf my better senses.
Not only was this man stealing Arken’s time and attention from me today, but soon enough, he would be doing it every godsdamned week for the foreseeable future
Phenomenal.
I wasn’t about to be a jackass about it, and so I swallowed those emotions and had only encouraged her, telling her how proud I was of all her hard work and the way she was advancing so quickly, running circles around her peers.
And that hadn’t been a lie—I adored everything about Arken’s academic fervor and her exceptional mind. Of course I had encouraged her.
And I hated myself for that right about now.
Because in a wholly masochistic endeavor, I had chosen to head into the office while Arken was off doing her own thing. I had nothing specific to do. For reasons I didn’t fully understand yet, my commander had given me the order to focus on Arken this week after the Leshy’s attack.
“See to it that the Light Conduit recovers from this first and foremost, Vistarii. She’s too rare for us to lose.”
All too eager to accept that assignment, I hadn’t bothered to ask questions.
It seemed straightforward enough: ever since Arken had arrived at the Studium, she had been on my commander’s radar.
Such was the case with any wielder of Light or Shadow—all signs suggested we were a dying breed, which held concerning implications for the High Scholars of the Arcane Studium.
All of that was to say: I didn’t need to be here right now. Jeremiah and Hans had split my responsibilities between them, and the only thing I needed to worry about was an upcoming meeting with leadership, but that was still days away. I had no reason to be here. I had chosen to be.
Why?
So that when I had sleuthed my way through the Archives this morning—yet again abusing my privileges to acquire private information on somebody close to Arken—it would look like I was just doing my job.
Nobody would ask questions so long as I returned to headquarters for a bit—my reputation as a workaholic preceded me.
And so I spent nearly an hour digging through every last detail of Ezra Thompson’s records this morning, trying to find a reason to hate him for capturing a fraction of Arken’s affections. Infuriatingly, there was nothing to be found. Scholar Thompson was a fucking saint.
After an illustrious career as a student himself, decorated with awards and distinctions, the Earth Conduit had studied abroad in both Novos and Irros.
Upon his triumphant return, he began cutting-edge research for the Bios department, where he worked for practically nothing.
What little spare time and funds the young scholar seemed to have were frequently donated to Sophrosyne’s animal shelters, having dual certifications of right to practice in both arcane mycology and veterinary sciences.
Page after page in this man’s files made something painfully apparent: he was a far better man for Arken than the likes of me.
It was a hard pill to swallow, knowing that one day, eventually, I would have to let Arken go. I hadn’t swallowed it at all, really, and it weighed heavily on my tongue. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t fair to pretend that I could ever offer her commitment—not when my Fate was fucking sealed.
As much as I tried to tell myself I could fight it, as much as I wanted to believe I could somehow deny the very threads of predestination…The truth was that I had my doubts about whether I had the strength to defy the will of the Source.
I did not raise you to be weak, a dark voice snapped inside my head. I shoved it out. At the end of the day, I was a doomed man. One way or another.
Which meant that Ezra Thompson had so much more to offer Arken than I ever could. Commitment. Peace. A lifetime of honesty, mutual understanding, and meaningful work.
Sure, I could give Arken passion. I could offer her pleasure, adventures, luxury, and protection. I could be her provider, a sword and shield against anything that sought to do her harm. And I could make her happy. Gods, I could make her so fucking happy.
But a man like Ezra? He could keep her safe. Offer her a life without any need for protection. There was nothing dangerous about settling down with an academic, not in fucking Sophrosyne of all places.
I was going to have to give her up someday. Frustrated, I rose to my feet, pacing as I ran an anxious hand through my hair.
Someday isn’t now. Stop fucking dwelling on it. Don’t ruin the time you still have with her because you’re a fucking coward, Vistarii. Embrace her presence while you still can, because the gods only know you’ll cling to these memories for dear life later.
A much weaker voice attempted to whisper, too.
And you never know. Nothing is truly set in stone, not yet. You’ve made it this far…so maybe one day—
I shoved that thought from my brain with violent force because, feeble as that voice may be, it was the most dangerous one that lived inside my head.
It had somehow survived my every last effort to destroy it, to butcher and bury it deep.
Someday isn’t fucking now. Sort your fucking shit, Vistarii.
Summoning my daggers to my palms and sheathing them at my sides, I shucked off my coat and made my way downstairs. Somewhere in the expansive training hall, there was bound to be room for me to train—a spare striking dummy with my name on it.
Or, you know. Scholar Thompson’s.
Don’t be a dick.
It was a little too late for that, though.
Because I’d taken a touch of toxic comfort in knowing that the bitemarks I’d left on Arken’s throat this morning were particularly glaring.
And I was rather proud of the one I’d left just above her clavicle, the little deep-red dots my incisors had left by just barely breaking skin.
If Arken’s instructor knew what was good for him, he would notice the girl had been claimed—and respect that she was already spoken for.