Chapter 10 Nyx #2
Which is why I’d wanted to be a nameless, anonymous student hovering on the periphery of classrooms and cliques.
But in one day, that hope has been crushed because some pretty asshole stole my food and painted a target on my back. Maybe that was his goal: make it so unbearably awkward for me to simply exist that I seek him out to make it stop.
That fucker.
As I lay in my bed, snacking on food I’ve managed to squirrel away the past few days, I read.
And I research. And I try to cram every bit of knowledge so that tomorrow, I’m less vulnerable than I was today.
Because even though I have no magic, no wealth, and no strength—knowledge is its own kind of power.
That’s why on Wednesday I wake up even earlier, take whatever I can grab quickly from the plentiful breakfast buffet, and find a deserted corner in the cavernous library until it’s time to leave for my first class.
Luckily, Professor Allard seems to have forgotten I exist, as have the professors in my Politics and Wielding classes.
Despite my attempts, however, the Divination professor, a woman who almost reminds me of Misty back in Lynden minus a lifetime of LSD and shrooms, doesn’t let me disappear so easily.
“Ms. Byrke, a moment,” she announces as we begin packing our things, and I fight to suppress a groan of frustration. Deanna Chamberlain doesn’t walk so much as glides to the seat next to mine and crosses her legs, resting her chin on her fist like we’re about to spill the tea leaves.
“How are you settling in so far?” she asks. Is she honestly expecting me to tell her how I’m feeling?
Girl, you’d never guess who talked to me yesterday—that’s right, one of the Heirs!
He was so hot, but then he stole my food which made me upset because I’ve been half-starved my entire life, and then gym class sucked because everyone made fun of me, and the other kids were talking about me behind my back the whole day.
“Fine,” I respond with a terse smile. She tilts her head and for a moment I wonder whether she has the power to read thoughts. Shit, is telepathy a thing?
“Hmm. You know, you’re far from the first new student who’s found themselves feeling overwhelmed by a new environment,” she offers gently.
“While your particular circumstances are unusual, I’ve seen many students overcome the hardships that brought them here and achieve greatness once they leave.
” Lucky me, my Divination professor moonlights as a counselor.
“That’s nice.” Get me the fuck out of here.
“I want you to know that I’m available any time if you have any questions, or if you need a sympathetic ear. Please do let me know how I can assist you best—”
“I’m good. Thanks though,” I interrupt, swinging my backpack to my shoulders. Infuriatingly, she just smiles at my rudeness in a way that says “I know how scared you are”.
I know that she knows.
And she knows that I know she knows.
And now I don’t know how to get out of this conversation.
She seems to take pity on me. “Alright then. Next week we’ll spend some time after class picking out the tarot deck you’ll use throughout the rest of the year, unless you have one already?
” I shake my head. “Not to worry, we’ll get you all squared away.
Have a lovely rest of your week, Ms. Byrke.
” she dismisses me before floating back to the front of the classroom.
Once again, I slink back to my dorm room with plans to raid my snack stash instead of gorging myself on dinner in the Great Hall.
When my stomach protests that empty, hollow feeling I’ve tried to erase from memory the last few days, I ignore it, just like I’ve done so many times before.
Despite being able to easily afford groceries from the Student Union, or even the town thanks to the generous stipend I’ve been allotted, I refuse to spend it.
When I leave here, I’ll need every cent to survive wherever I end up.
I miss my alarm on Thursday morning after another late night reading, so I wait until most of the commotion in the hall has died down before rushing through my morning routine in the bathrooms, hoping to avoid having to actually interact with anyone.
When I’m finally showered and changed, I start walking back to my room only to see Tori knocking on my door, and freeze before darting around the corner to wait for her to leave.
I have no idea why she’d want to talk to me after her little stunt on Monday, but whatever the reason, I have no interest in hearing what she has to say.
The last few students are just meandering out of the Great Hall after breakfast, and I manage to grab a quick bite while stuffing more non-perishables in my backpack before sprinting to my classroom.
I send a little mental “thank you” to the Headmaster for putting Linguistics and Divinity Studies back to back, since they’re so closely related it feels like I’m tandem learning.
Separating fact from fiction is still a bit of a mindfuck, but I’m slowly wrapping my head around it.
Like Fate—that tricky bitch who’s railroaded my life—is widely considered to be some sort of phenomenal cosmic power, more influential than even the primordial forces that breathed life into our chaotic universe and, the deities born from their legends.
Skipping lunch again, I find an empty seat in Taxonomic Studies as far away from everyone else as I can, and listen with rapt attention as Professor Oscar Stanton, an older man with approximately twelve hairs on his head and worn elbow patches on his tweed sports jacket, explains the differences between different magical hybrids.
In Physical Training afterwards, I silently will the ninety minutes to pass as quickly as possible. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll spontaneously enter a fugue state and wake up just as class is ending.
Stranger things have happened.
But when the massive, hulking man I recognize from the Heir’s table earlier this week arrives with the teacher, my stomach drops.
I’m already at the back of the class, but that doesn’t stop me from reflexively making myself smaller.
It’s pointless though, the guy is tall enough to see over the crowd of students I’m using as human shields.
“Everyone,” Coach Carrick announces without preamble, “start warming up, then split into groups of three for drills. Two in, one out, and switch after 10 drills on each side. Ms. Byrke—” damnit.
“—over here.” He gestures for me to join him and Goliath, who scrutinizes my every step, scanning me just like he scanned the Great Hall.
He doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t have to.
It’s all in his eyes, written across his face plain as day: he despises me.
“Nyx, this is Luther Falke. He’s my teaching assistant, and he’s going to evaluate you so I know where to start you. He’ll take you through some drills today.” Carrick turns to Luther with a nod and walks off without a single fuck that Luther looks like he’d prefer if I’d keeled over right here.
Luther crosses his massive arms over his equally massive chest and stares me down, picking me apart, cataloging all my faults. I feel more exposed under his gaze than I did under Maeve’s—where she saw potential, he sees every flaw.
He clenches his jaw and drops his arms to his side. “Follow me,” he orders in a deep, rough voice, directing me to a secluded corner with piles of thick foam mats. “What do you already know?”
“You’re gonna have to be more specific.” I quip.
He ignores me and starts rearranging the mats around us. “Do you know anything about martial arts, grappling, or boxing?”
“Nope.”
His scowl returns. “Do you know any self-defense?”
“Enough to get me out of a tight spot,” I answer, but he raises an eyebrow expectantly. “I’m pretty good with a baseball bat and a pocket knife, but that’s about it.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighs.
“That’s it.” A statement laced with disdain, not a question.
As intimidating as he is, I can’t help but bristle at his dismissal.
I’m not an expert, obviously, but I know enough to keep myself safe around belligerent drunks and handsy high schoolers.
“I can take care of myself,” I insist, matching his scowl.
“You’d tap out to the worst student in this class in under a minute.” He lifts an enormous mat out of the way and I catch myself appreciating the wall of muscle in front of me before he turns around and I flick my eyes back up.
“Stand here.” He gestures, and then proceeds to wipe the floor with me for an hour and a half, until my chest heaves as I fight for oxygen and pray for death to take me.
With each exercise I barely complete, the disdain on his face only grows.
By the end of this torture session disguised as an education, I’m weighing the pros and cons of taking my stipend and running off into the sunset.
Then he utters the three most perfect words in existence.
“I’m calling it,” he grumbles and stands after putting me on my back yet again, barely having broken a sweat.
Under different circumstances, having his massive, warm, calloused hands running across my skin, his body behind mine, pinning my arms down would have been my idea of a good fucking time, but after this I doubt my body will ever move correctly again.
“Say it isn’t so,” I wheeze, and he rolls his eyes, walking away without another word to report back how pathetically inept I am, no doubt.
Not that I have the brain capacity to do anything more than shower and change.
He’d probably hate knowing that he’s actually done me a favor and kept me busy long enough that I missed fighting for privacy as everyone else showered, too.
When I limp into Professor Brandt’s office looking like a drowned rat, the Santa lookalike smiles broadly and gestures past wall to wall built-ins for me to sit in a cushioned leather chair towards the back of the room, situated in front of the low fire.
“Ah, I remember those days. I won’t bother lying to you with empty platitudes about how it’ll get easier. Half a century later, I still despise every moment of physical training they put us through.”
“Then why the fuck do they make us do it?” He chuckles, and the lingering tightness in my chest from today subtly unclenches. The steaming tea he hands me a moment later helps, too.
“Drink that. It’ll take the edge off so we can have a productive conversation.
And there are several very good reasons, I’m afraid,” he begins, adding another log to the fire.
“For starters, being physically capable is just as important as being mentally capable when it comes to wielding our magic. Then there’s the Crypteia at the end of the school year, which I’ll tell you more about later.
I don’t want to worry you unnecessarily,” he finishes with a wink, which immediately worries me, as he sits in the opposite chair.
“For now, since I know you’ll be wanting to return to your dorm and recover, I’m happy to answer any burning questions you may have and release you early with a list of reading I’d like you to complete before our next meeting.” He steeples his hands and looks at me expectantly.
“I don't know where to start,” I say honestly after a moment. His gaze goes from playful to empathetic, and suddenly the weight of these last few days—not even a week since my life was upended—feels suffocating.
“I’ve been teaching for a long time, Ms. Byrke—”
“You can call me Nyx,” I surprise myself by saying, and feel a sudden rush of grief when I realize how long it’s been since I’ve heard Eileen’s raspy voice call out “Nyxie” over the din of Daly’s.
He nods and continues. “—but there will come a day, and I believe that day will arrive sooner rather than later for you, where the hurdles that you trip and stumble over today will become mere steps in the path you’ve climbed as you mount the insurmountable.
Your presence here, despite your humble beginnings, demonstrates more courage and fortitude than some ever achieve.
Who cares if you don’t know the difference between a summoning sigil and a portal sigil right now?
You’ll learn. Whatever purpose Fate has woven into the stars for you, you already have the tools you need.
” He taps his fingers to his temple. “Everything else is simply nice to have.” After a pause, he continues with a rueful smile.
“Although, there is something to be said for everyone being forced to call you “Grandmaster” once you get to my age.”
And at that, I actually laugh. It’s freeing, that foreign sound, and for the first time in a week I feel safe here in this small, cluttered office, surrounded by centuries of knowledge hidden within tattered books, lovingly preserved.
I’m sure he could demand any office he wanted, if the deference that the headmaster paid him is any indication, but that he chooses to remain in this small, intimate space that radiates warmth, literally and figuratively, makes me feel at ease in a way that I can’t remember ever feeling.
“I’ll email you the reading list and assignments for next week, Nyx.
Feel free to reach out if you have any questions between now and then.
” He gets up and I watch as he opens a writing cabinet off to the side, handing me a small tin.
“Take some more tea with you. Tomorrow will be worse, I’m afraid.
” I take it gratefully and stuff it into my backpack. My bones creak in protest when I stand.
“Thanks for this.” I nod, and he gives me another kind smile before walking me to the door and wishing me a goodnight.
When I finally manage to hobble my way to the front steps of the Admin building, my lungs sting with the crisp evening air and watch the last rays of light from the dying sun as it falls below the horizon.
According to the campus map, there’s a lookout towards the cliffs not far from the Temple, and I make a mental note to watch the sunset as it sinks into the sea from the edge of the world, instead of from the dirty window of my dorm.
That night, I don’t stay up reading. I dream of being held against a warm chest, strong arms banded around my cool, salt-kissed skin as darkness descends and envelopes my mind.