Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
BIANCA
W eek one of training doesn’t go according to plan. My group might not suspect I already have their most coveted spot on tour in the bag, but they notice Sofia and Santiago picking me up after every training session. It stirs curiosity about who I am. Eventually, it turns to insults and animosity between us. They see it as favoritism—and I don’t blame them, because it is—but it’s not like I can explain why.
The animosity only grows further as the days go by. A few times, I catch glimpses of fellow cadets lurking along the shadows of the library when I study.
Soon enough, they hiss the nickname ‘crown pet’ as I walk past them. If they only knew that I sleep every night at the crown prince’s suite.
The drama’s ringleader is a five-foot-two-inch-tall demon called Dora. Her appearance may be unassuming, with shoulder-length hair and glasses, but that's just on the surface. She has taken every opportunity to make herself a pain in my ass. My patience is running thin with her .
Today is the seventh day and our first sparring session. We’ve spent the past six days conditioning and learning different fighting techniques. We’re expected to perform at a certain level without magic. Alejandra decides what we focus on every day. I hope not to be the reason she has waited this long for hand-to-hand combat, though I appreciate the time it gave me to prepare.
Dora has been eyeing me all week, like she can’t wait to get her turn with me, but I ignore her. I’m not about to cry to Alejandra with my juvenile problems; she hasn’t brought up anything, if she even noticed. Nonetheless, I am pleased to hear Dora’s name called with someone else.
“Jose and Bianca,” Alejandra calls, and a scrawny boy steps forward. She nods for me to join him in the circle.
Jose is a young man with a father somewhere in Roman’s ranks. Because of its reputation as the easiest Royal Force job for cadets, his father pushed him to join Alejandra's team. He has no desire to be here.
He looks like a deer in headlights when I step forward. Because I feel sorry for him, I decide to take him to the ground quickly and painlessly. I can do this.
I go for the attack as soon as Alejandra tells us to go. My plan is to tackle him and ask him to submit. I didn't consider the possibility of my body being propelled into the air when I cage him on the floor. I go up and up. The wind holds me there for a couple of blinks before gravity takes effect, and I free-fall. A dozen spells I’ve practiced at the library over the past week come to mind. Momentum spell slows down a cup of water from sliding down the table to a stop. A wind bending spell allows me to change the page in my book. In neither of those scenarios was the object of my focus so heavy or large. Before I can even think about how to make it work, I watch the floor close in on me. Then, everything goes dark.
When I open my eyes again, all I feel is pain. A radiating heat comes from my arm and an insufferable voice in my ear.
“You can’t do a simple shielding spell?” Roman huffs in irritation. “Even children in grade school know how to do simple shields.”
I’m sure I broke my arm. I must have passed out because we’re inside the castle, moving quickly through the halls. Everyone gives us a wide berth as Roman, Jesse, and Alejandra rush with me in Roman’s arms.
Could anyone else have picked me up instead?
“How is this my fault?” Even talking hurts. I let out a muffled grunt, clenching my teeth.
Jesse scratches the back of his head. “Jose is a strong wind wielder. Did you see how high she went? He’ll be an outstanding defender. We need to move him to one of your teams.”
Is he trying to defend me or change the topic? Regardless of his intentions, he needs to shut up.
“Well, welcome back,” Amy Bee greets from her desk.
I see her daily when I visit Matias in the morning. The strain in her smile isn’t usually there when she sees me. Roman unceremoniously drops me on her desk, and I could cry from the pain. Some tears spill, but because of my current condition, they don’t count.
“You insensitive asshole,” Amy Bee says.
The pain has me on the brink of unconsciousness. Like when I dropped from the air, everything goes dark again.
“ C an someone explain why Fifth is not in the library for her afternoon lesson with Santiago?” Brandon’s voice wakes me from my sleep. The chatter in the room vanishes at his question.
He’s standing inside the door with Isabel close behind. Roman sits by the wall, playing chess with Jesse across from him. Alejandra is nowhere in sight.
I can't see Brandon's face from my angle on the bed, but he can see me. At least the cast on my arm. Magic can’t instantly mend bones. I would know, I’ve seen Matias break his fair share. Thankfully, magic can significantly speed up the process. Several hours have passed, at the very least, because the injury has mostly healed.
“Who broke her?” Brandon asks, moving to take a closer look.
His question is so casually spoken. I must be on strong medication because I can’t feel anything, and I want to giggle. The brothers fill him in on the entire event. I lie there and listen. Since I was unconscious for a part of it, I also want to fill in the blanks. The brothers speak animatedly, making Isabel laugh at their exaggerations of the incident.
“Amy,” Brandon calls. “What’s your prognosis?”
“She can leave, but she needs to take it easy.” Amy looks uncomfortable. “Her arm will be healed in a few hours, but her bone will remain fragile for a week.” She looks straight at Brandon and then at me before exiting the room, ignoring everyone else.
“Do you need help walking?” Brandon leans down to my level and taps the bandaged arm.
I huff, “Nope.” I try to roll sideways, away from my injured arm before thinking better of it. “Just up to my feet.”
I manage to get vertical and realize Brandon’s hand is still on my back, helping me take the first step like he will catch me if I go sideways. “Did I hear you call me ‘fifth’ earlier?” I ask.
Brandon’s smile is slow and playful. He looks so young like this.
“You were supposed to be the fifth soul. It also rhymes with thief.” The crown prince of Puerto Quinn coming up with a nickname for me is absurd. And I don't think it actually rhymes.
“Thought of that all on your own?” I give him an unamused frown. His eyes glint something I wish to see again. “I like it,” I say. I’ve definitely been called worse.