Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Lory
Three weeks felt like the blink of an eye when all Lory did was train and sleep.
At least she still saw Tabi, Thal, and Jarek during Medica and Knowledge classes, which she had to catch up on with her lack of education prior to entering Ashthorn.
It was on the days of those classes that Lory envied Brycon Seine, the knowledgist, who could absorb information out of books by merely placing his hands on them.
A practical ability, and one that would have made Brycon Lory’s favorite study partner in the world, had he not been sympathizing with Ricca’s ideas about who should live and who should die in this academy.
Lory hadn’t spoken a word with Brycon since she’d returned to Ashthorn, and she wasn’t planning on doing so now, which left her with no other option than choosing the chair farthest away from the young man at their table in the Medica quarters.
Tabi was stirring a brown paste in a copper bowl that the woman had clearly swiped from the Elixir classroom on the northern end of the building.
“Only one more day until the final trials,” Jarek noted as he watched Tabi with rapt fascination. “We should be going over combat tactics and historical facts rather than brewing salves. Whatever it is you’re trying to make there, it won’t make a difference in the trial.”
Tabi shot him a dark glance that made even Lory shrink a few inches into her chair. She knew very well Tabi didn’t need salves and bandages to heal people, but who else knew at Ashthorn apart from leadership? As far as Lory knew, Tabi’s abilities were classified.
That made her wonder… “Magic is passed down through bloodlines, right?” She took a long look at the various groups of ashlings working on their assignments, gaze lingering on Tabi first, then Thal, then Jarek, skipping over the other blues until they landed on Brycon.
“Not every generation shows signs, though. And not every family member develops the same affinity, am I correct?”
“You should have at least the basics of magic down by now, Vednis.” Brycon glowered over the worn table, right past the other students, who were now openly staring. No matter how many times she joined the ashling classes, she was still an oddity there as a Flame and a thornling.
“Of course, I know the basics, Seine,” she shot at him. “What I want to know is if the abilities are watered down generation after generation, or if some talents simply flare up after hundreds of years of potential dormancy.”
That earned her a raised brow from Thal, who was practicing folding techniques for tourniquets. “You mean, you’re wondering why my water magic is so awesomely pronounced and Brycon’s knowledgism is not even a half-hearted hobby?”
Brycon cleared his throat, pretending not to be offended by Thal’s eloquent hit.
“Shut up, Thal.” It was the phrase she’d heard Tabi use most around their water-magic-gifted friend. “No matter what a loser Brycon might be otherwise, his magic is fucking useful.”
“Thank you.” Brycon said it more like an ‘about time someone appreciates the awesomeness of my gift’ rather than a real thank you, but Lory didn’t care. Not today.
Despite the good distance she always kept between herself and everyone who’d been close to Ricca, this time she was prepared to have a conversation with Brycon.
She merely needed him to be the one diving into the topic first so no one would get suspicious.
If anyone knew the books in Ashthorn’s library inside out, it was Brycon, who spent every spare second between the pages, absorbing their content.
What she needed was someone to fill in the blank spots in her knowledge of Brestolyan history.
“It’s actually a very useful gift,” Jarek agreed, “you know, if you don’t ever mean to impress. It’s not like such a magic will get you laid.”
With his left hand, Jarek summoned a swirl of wind, ruffling the pages clutched in Brycon’s hand.
The knowledgist tore back his hands, pages fluttering from his fingers. “Hey, I was reading that.”
“And by reading, you mean actual reading, or cheating, like you do with your magic?” It wasn’t fair toward the knowledgist, Lory knew that, but she was baiting him for a reason, and as if her friends could sense that she needed their help, they stepped in, supporting her endeavor without even knowing what she was up to.
“By reading, I mean the sort of information uptake the likes of you could never fathom, street rat.”
“Look who’s grown a pair.” Thal howled. Actually howled, like a desert wolf.
“Didn’t look that way when he was hanging, tangled in the ropes in the back part of the training parcours last week,” Tabi added, and Lory wished she’d been there to witness the tall, lanky ashling stuck like in a spiderweb.
She wasn’t particularly proud of the pleasure she took in Brycon’s misery as he searched for words to spit in Thal’s and Tabi’s faces, but this was the man who’d taken Ricca’s words as a dogma, and she couldn’t get herself to regret what she’d started.
All around the room, ashlings were now turning their heads to observe the spectacle, their attention a heavy weight Lory would have loved to shed, but this wasn’t about her.
This was about the small pieces of information she’d learned with her improving reading, and Lord Niely’s words that wouldn’t leave her head: The Pervaille family was responsible for the attacks in the city.
She needed any help she could get, and Tabi, Thal, and Jarek’s aid had run out, with none of them having extensively studied the history books the way Brycon could.
Not even Anees and Hadrian could have absorbed the contents of those books like that.
Hatred shimmering in Brycon’s eyes, he braced his hands on the edge of the table, about to shove away and leave, when Lory felt the timing was right.
She’d lain awake all night after an extensive read of Aiden’s history book and running into dead ends with those little notes.
The Great Purge is a great lie. Conquest of the South.
Criu borders. And so many more that she couldn’t remember all of them.
“Why don’t you give us a little demonstration then?” Lory prompted, hoping he wouldn’t see right through her. “Tell us about all the books you’ve read. Anything interesting in there?”
Like a bird, Brycon puffed up his chest, swiping his long, black braid over his shoulder, and cocked his head at her. “Anything in particular you need, Vednis?”
Doing her best to sound nonchalant, Lory shrugged. “ Just a sample of your abilities so I’ll know for the future if I should bother to rescue you on the parcours when you get stuck again.”
Behind her, someone giggled, and when Lory glanced over her shoulder, Maes was standing there, hiding her grin behind her fist.
Brycon’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Say whatever you want, Vednis. I won’t tell you a thing. You’re nothing but illiterate, lazy scum, and your abomination of a magic will be the end of us all one day.”
Lory hadn’t seen the attack coming, one of words rather than of steel or magic, and for all it was worth, it hurt more than a punch to the gut.
All she could do was stare as he got to his feet and left the room, ignoring the claps of approval some of the ashlings placed on his shoulder as he passed by, or the shouts of objection coming from Lory’s friends—and some of the ashlings she’d never talked to but felt she needed to get to know after showing her such support; be it out of fear of her magic or because they genuinely felt Brycon was in the wrong, she didn’t care.
Anyone who didn’t wish for her death these days was a win.
When Lory made her way down to the training yard, her stomach was queasy, and her heart was racing as if she were about to enter the final trials herself.
While she’d been practicing Steel with Anees and Gilded with Hadrian, magic and Veiled with both, over the past weeks, her friends had been writing tests on Knowledge, Elixir, and Medica, and they had performed trials in Steel, Gilded, and Veiled.
But this was a trial combining all three disciplines, she’d learned from Hadrian not an hour ago, where the ashlings’ skills would be tested.
About a third wouldn’t make it, if General Ycken was to be believed, who had announced that particular detail at breakfast, right after the splendid news that no one would be executed that day.
Halfway down the stairs, Lory’s heart stuttered, as if an external force had forced it to slow down.
A moment later, Khayrivven prowled around the corner, his arms swinging casually at his sides and his face unreadable—until his gaze met hers, and a universe of thought and emotions poured from those gray irises.
Thanks to the trials, the corridors were empty, with everyone already assembled by the training parcours, and Lory slowed her pace, allowing her lips to twitch into a smile.
Welcome back, she thought at him, willing her feet to keep their course straight past him.
Like a ray of light in the darkness, Khayrivven’s face lit up, and his hand flashed to the side, capturing Lory’s and spinning her around midstep.
Lory would have yelped had she not been gasping for air as the Veiled Hand pulled her along to the small plateau at the bottom of the stairs and into an alcove Lory hadn’t noticed before.
There, he turned around so his back was against the wall and tugged her against his chest so they were both engulfed by shadows, the flickering light of the torch above the stairs unable to reach them.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, his mouth an inch from hers and his hands on her hips.
Lory wanted nothing more than to melt against him and forget the world existed, but it was the middle of the day, and Lenya could have his spies positioned anywhere.
“I thought we weren’t allowed to do this here at Ashthorn,” she whispered back, restraining her fingers from wandering up his neck and into his hair.