Chapter 23
Learning to Manage Leaks
All day I'd been restless and uptight, knowing that my first supplementary training with Zevrial was nearing. Dinner sat in a twisted knot in my stomach. At least Henrik would be suffering with me.
I imagined I was walking the plank to the Devourer as I plodded toward the Brig, where Zevrial had told us to meet for the training. I was already late, having procrastinated as long as I could get away with.
Stepping through the doors, oil lamps had been laid out around the perimeter to make up for the lack of natural light from the moonless night. It had a cozy effect on the otherwise intimidating room, one I didn't appreciate.
Being this close to bars felt too familiar, even if all of the cell doors were open.
Making myself not notice Zevrial was impossible, although I tried valiantly. Henrik was nowhere in sight. My stomach churned as Zevrial turned a charming smile on me from inside the largest cell.
The lamplight was hugging his skin, making it look almost like it was glowing. Why was it so hot in here?
“Your friend seems to have opted out of today's training,” Zevrial commented. “Lucky you, you'll be getting a personalized session today.”
“Yeah, lucky me,” I muttered. We were isolated, then.
Yipee.
“Hmm. Punctuality isn't your strong suit, is it?” he asked, motioning me forward. I inched a step closer into the cell, keeping as much distance between us as I could. This man was hazardous to my health.
“That's fine, we'll work on that too,” he said.
I crossed my arms, trying to put at least one more feeble barrier between us. “What are we,” I cleared my throat, mouth dry as ancient bone. “What are we doing here tonight?”
“Well, since Henrik opted out of today's lesson,” he drawled, stepping closer since I hadn't. “I think we’ll work on your coordination at hand-to-hand combat.” He tapped his torso, suspiciously close to where our glyphs were. “Try to land a hit on me.”
“That doesn't seem like a good use of official training time,” I commented.
“If I say it is, it is.” His eyes were alit with humor. “Are you afraid you'll hurt me?”
Oh, I'd hurt him alright.
Assuming a grappling posture like we'd learned, I prepared myself to lunge. I circled him, waiting for the best opportunity to strike. He stayed infuriatingly still, even as I went around beyond his blind spots.
Darting forward, I grabbed at air while he dodged to the side. I kicked out with my leg, hoping to trip him like he’d done to me, but he sidestepped it.
“A serviceable attempt, but not great,” he remarked. “You left yourself wide open to a counter maneuver.”
I gritted my teeth, moving further behind him. Waiting a few seconds, I rushed at him again. This time, he shot his leg out and toppled me onto the floor as I rushed forward. I picked myself back up, eyeing him.
“You're going to have to do more than make come-hither looks at me if you're going to land a hit,” he taunted.
I barreled forward, even though he had a clear line of sight on me. It didn't matter, since I'd tried to get him off guard twice from behind and failed. But as I neared him, before I could react, he hooked his arm on my waist and spun me sideways. I landed in a dazed heap, breathing heavily.
“That was even worse than before,” he chided. “Try throwing a punch, maybe a kick, instead of just trying to knock me over.”
Pushing myself back up, I faced him again.
He had a point, I'd been charging at him on each attempt.
This time I swung out with my leg, trying to hit him in the shoulder.
He sidestepped, looking unphased. “Good,” he commented, as I followed up with a punch toward his face.
He grabbed my forearm and twisted it around behind me, causing me to yelp.
His breath was cool against the sweat on my neck as he leaned in. “You're telegraphing every move before you make it. Follow your instincts, move the way you’re built to.”
My instincts were giving me some very mixed signals right now.
He released my arm, stepping back.
I spun around, trying to punch him in the chest and following it with a kick toward his opposite side. He took three quick steps back, avoiding me entirely. An animalistic noise of frustration broke free.
“I'd be angry too, getting shown up this badly,” Zevrial mocked.
I charged him, following one punch with another and another, swinging out with my knee. He dodged each intended strike with fluid ease.
His skill level was too far above mine. I’d have to distract him and hope it worked.
“Are you sure you're qualified to teach?” I asked, panting for breath as he continued to dodge every blow I sent toward him.
“Mhm,” he replied, twisting out of the way of my kick at his knees.
“I disagree,” I sent out my elbow in the hopes of catching him in the side of the face. No luck. “I might need to teach you a thing or two.” I grabbed at his hips but missed, again.
“I'm sure I'd enjoy that,” he remarked. “But only after you manage to actually hit me.” He swept out a leg again, tripping me for the third time. But as I went down, I grabbed his leg, dragging him down too.
Shock registered on his face before he hit the floor. I didn't give him the satisfaction of waiting before I swung a punch toward his side. It connected with an audible splat.
“Shit!” I yanked my hand back. My knuckles were damp with blood. “I didn't hit you that hard, did I?”
“I’m not that weak,” he grunted. “But it was a solid hit.” He pulled up the corner of his shirt. My breath caught at the sight of a large bandage underneath, edges seeping with blood.
“Holy Devourer...What happened?” I asked. The bandage stretched all the way from above his ribs toward his outer thigh. My eyes wandered rebelliously.
Down, naughty girl.
“You didn’t hit anything vital, just pulled a stitch.” He waved me back. Something dark and curving was peeking out from the lower edge of the bandage that caught my attention.
“Is that...” I leaned closer, ignoring him. My eyes bulged. “Do you have Skinscript on your thigh? That cannot be an officially approved location.”
He muttered a curse, hand moving to shield the area as he dropped his shirt back down. Jaw set, he focused on me. “You didn't see anything.”
I scoffed. “I definitely did.”
He scowled, eyes glittering. “You didn't.”
My brain put the puzzle pieces together. “That's another unsanctioned Skinscript glyph,” I stated.
His eyes narrowed. “And if it is?”
“You’re unbelievable.” I narrowed my eyes. “You said you didn’t know anything about Skinscript just appearing.”
“Who said these just appeared?” he fired back.
These, plural?
Who knew what glyphs they were, they could be anything. Likely far more useful than the one that made our heartbeats sync. And from his reaction, no one knew about these glyphs, either. The sheer possibilities of having concealed power like that made me dizzy.
My gaze rose to meet his. “I want to know who gave them to you. Because I want some, too.”
His mouth opened, then quickly shut it. I could practically see the gears turning behind darkening eyes. He let out a long sigh. “I’m your instructor–”
I scoffed. “When has that mattered?”
He eyed me warily, eyes dark. “It has mattered since day one, more so now than ever. You’d have to get them in a...private location where no one’ll see it.”
Well, duh. These were highly illegal. “Agreed,” I said aloud.
“And the only way I'll even consider this, is if you swear on your life that you’ll never speak of any of this again, to anyone.” His tone had taken on that threatening edge that made me shiver.
“Deal,” I said without hesitating. It was basically the same deal we’d made at the cliff, just now covering more than one illegal Skinscript glyph.
“And I want five glyphs.” His eyebrows drew together but I pressed on before he could argue.
“You obviously have more than one, if I can see them above the hem of your pants. At least six. I want five.”
“No deal.”
“Four then.”
“Two,” he growled at me. “And you don't choose the glyphs. That's me being generous.”
“Three,” I shot back. “And I choose one of them. And you have to explain to me what each of yours do.”
His eyes narrowed as he ran a hand through his hair. I returned his hard stare. His frustration was thick enough to taste in the air that hovered between us. I licked my lips, suddenly nervous.
After what felt like eternity, he finally nodded. My heart leapt and a giddy grin split my face.
The power to choose one of the glyphs I’d get was heady.
From any of the known Skinscript glyphs, no less.
Sure, I didn't know more than the few that Instructor Garcien had shown us, but Zevrial had more Skinscript than anyone I'd ever met.
Once he explained them, I'd be able to choose the best one.
Something that could protect me from Nikolach, or ever having to return to the Reformatory.
Or something that could let me escape if I ever had to go back.
Maybe there was a glyph strong enough to help me protect myself and my loved ones from being put into that position again.
I reined in my whirling thoughts, remembering that Zevrial was still bleeding from my punch. Before I could think to stop myself, I reached out and lifted the edge of his shirt up. Hard flesh brushed the knuckle of my thumb. His breath caught, and my heart stuttered.
“I assume you did this bandage up yourself, since it’s so close to that Skinscript?”
His gaze was on fire as I glanced up at him. “Mhm.”
I studied the bandage. Only a small amount of blood was leaking, one or two torn stitch's worth at most, in a line of at least twelve stitches to cover the length of the gash. I swallowed as I noticed the taut muscle underneath the bandage.
“I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were injured when I hit you. Why did you ask me to hit you?”
“I didn’t think you could.”
Was it too late to rescind my apology?
“It doesn't look too bad. Do you need supplies to fix it back up?” My fingertips brushed against the seam where the bandage met skin.