Chapter Thirty-Nine
Avari
The portal room in the War Academy was empty. Not a soul in sight. Thank the Gods, I didn’t have to teach anyone decency or manners today. Not that I wouldn't; for the first time in a while, I woke up well-rested and ready for the day ahead.
Within minutes, I reached the office and knocked, but nobody answered. Was he late again? For somebody so disciplined, Isaac didn’t seem to pay much attention to his schedule. Or perhaps he felt no need to rush.
I didn’t want him to think he had to. I could wait, just not in the corridor, where the psychopath from last time might want revenge for making her jump at her blade like a clown.
The same bookshelf that caught my attention last time called to me again.
My finger twitched as I ran it along the smooth, fragrant wood.
One shelf had splintered, the lighter colour standing out.
‘Mathematics: Algebra 1’ stood out in its red leather, and I questioned Isaac’s choice in literature when I noticed at least three shelves filled with similar tomes.
‘Have you gone to university?’ he asked, entering suddenly.
Was he mistaking my interest in books for a thirst for knowledge? ‘I tried a few classes, but the students weren’t very receptive to having me there.’
‘Why?’ The question was sharp enough to echo in my head.
Going back to my late teens wasn’t a pleasant trip down memory lane; I would much rather not indulge him, but I didn’t want to come off as rude. ‘Because I was known as the fire breather among water wielders. The two kingdoms at war. As such, they considered me inferior.’
‘Ridiculous. You’re not.’ He stopped in his tracks and looked like I’d grown two heads. ‘So you enjoy studying then?’
‘There was a time when I spent most of my days in the library. Though that was mostly to avoid contact with anyone,’ I said with forced lightness.
‘Are you that introverted?’ Isaac smiled. ‘You’re quite talkative; you don’t fit the type.’
‘Erm.’ I coughed in an attempt to buy myself some time. ‘I am, but I mostly wanted to spend time on my own to avoid confrontations with the court dwellers who never took kindly to my fire.’
The colour drained from his face. ‘Your mother allowed people to antagonise you?’
‘She practically encouraged it, but I’m over it now.’ This conversation needed to end. As if he had reached the same conclusion, he cleared his throat and moved on.
‘What about the academy? Have you considered going back to university in more… accepting environments? Like here?’
Ridiculous. ‘I’m pretty sure if Alec couldn’t get it, I haven’t got a chance.’
‘Alec’s situation is more complex than yours. I’d back your application if you ever decided.’
Opening the cupboard to his left, Isaac grabbed a thin shiny book, and as I craned my neck and couldn’t help but chuckle at his persistence. It was a prospectus. ‘I’m not very violent, Isaac; a war academy wouldn’t be a great fit.’
Tapping against the book, he wouldn’t let up. ‘We have other programmes. History, literature. The name stayed after the Civil War, but it’s not just combat we teach.’
Trust the teachers to judge their establishments objectively.
‘If the rest of your students are as peacefully inclined as the girl in the portal chamber, I think it might be a bit too rough for me.' My words intended to shoot him down before he got any more ideas.
‘Any signs of aggression toward non-combat students are severely punished. It’s basically unheard of.’
Like a stubborn mule, he didn’t seem to get the gist of my mild rejection. The idea wasn’t terrible, but it definitely was a little out there. Perhaps his mind needed a little steering to let it go. ‘You mentioned a Civil War?’
‘What about it?’ Excitement flashed as his gaze locked onto mine. The kind of passion he held for warfare was equally fascinating and terrifying.
‘The Isles had a Civil War?’
Isaac’s brows raised a little before speaking, ‘Sorry, I keep forgetting you grew up not knowing about the Isles.’
‘No worries, I know I should study more, but I don’t have the—’
‘I’m not judging you, Ava. The War… The Isles aren’t immune to prejudice; dark fae can be just as horrible as the kind you grew up around.’
Oh, no. Not here. ‘Puritans?’
‘Not exactly.’ Isaac’s arms slackened at his sides, and the flash of a grimace on his face worried me. ‘You see, for a long period of time, nightmare wielders had been perceived as demons.’
‘Demons?’ I asked, full of disbelief.
Tapping on the little sofa, he encouraged me to sit, and when I complied, he joined me. ‘Would you like something to drink before I continue?’
The little chest serving as his coffee table opened to reveal a selection of drinks.
One by one, he presented them, showing off the labels.
The last option I couldn’t refuse. I watched in silence as he poured me a glass of lemonade before choosing the same for himself.
Taking a sip, he looked at me with raised eyebrows.
‘What?’
A corner of his mouth rose in that way that meant he would tease me soon. ‘It’s my favourite; all the others I bought thinking of what you might like. I’m pleasantly surprised.’
I stared. ‘You bought juices for me?’
Taking slow sips, he looked a little troubled but kept his eyes centred on mine. ‘You said you don’t drink alcohol.’
The sentiment behind his words almost made me laugh. What did he need me drunk for? ‘Well… It’s not like I’m opposed, but I usually need a day to recover after, and I don’t have that kind of luxury at the moment.’
A chuckle bubbled in his throat before he walked away near his desk and poured two glasses of a rich, brown liquid. The little cupboard held a wine rack full of bottles.
‘Savour it,’ he instructed like a true connoisseur, before placing the carved glass in my hand. ‘Drinking doesn’t have to be about getting hammered. It can help relax. Give it a go.’
Bringing it up to my nose, I tried to decipher what it was. Pretending to know my way around spirits, I asked him, ‘Whiskey?’
‘Cognac,’ he said, sitting next to me and spreading in a way I’d never seen this uptight man do before. Head resting vertically on the back of the sofa, he urged me softly, ‘Try it.’
Watching him so… mundane was something I could get used to. Not the instructor hired to teach me, nor the combat professor forced to keep a mask of ruthlessness and apathy. And the longer I spent with him, the more he revealed that despite my earlier assumptions he did have a gentler side.
Raising the glass, I tasted the complex floral notes mixed with spices I couldn’t pinpoint. It was harsh and pleasant. Just like him. ‘I like it.’
‘I’m glad,’ he said, smiling. ‘We have similar taste.’
Switching positions, I sat cross-legged on the sofa, slouching as I faced the carefree Isaac. His usually expressive forehead remained smooth as he glanced at me from beneath his eyelashes.
Resting my head against the sofa as he did, I encouraged him to continue explaining the Civil War. Though the subject was serious and dismal, he thrived on anything related to combat.
‘We were the perfect scapegoats for all the wrongs,’ he started and played with the liquor in his half-full glass, swishing it side to side. ‘Because how could a person dabbling in something so dark and devious have any redeeming qualities, right?’
‘That’s horrible. They actually thought that?’
Isaac shifted to face me. ‘They’re called sympathisers.’
‘To what?’
‘Your grandfather’s philosophy,’ he said slowly as if he were wary of offending me. ‘The former king was a strong believer that the increased mortality rates of the dark fae could be resolved by eradicating the nightmare wielders.’
The news shocked me. I let the knowledge sink in. Some of my genes had come from a puritan. ‘He was wrong, right?’
‘That’s not an easy answer,’ Isaac said after a pause.
‘What does that mean?’
‘The old king created a task force of gifted nightmarists trained to kill in dreams.’ The warm eyes of his grew icy and distant. ‘But he wasn’t very gracious, and many went rogue. Vigilantes, if you may. It couldn’t be, and so they spun tales of our depraved practices.’
‘What practices?’ I asked.
‘Ritualistic sacrifices. It was a lie and a well-crafted one. With all this hatred, nightmarists wanted independence.’ He sipped on his cognac.
‘Then your grandfather was murdered, and your father inherited the throne. It was peaceful for a while, since he didn’t want the war, but neither side was willing to stop. ’
Isaac paused. ‘My people fought hard for autonomy. But ultimately, they decimated our numbers greatly, aiming their blades not only at nightmare wielders but also at their unsuspecting families. The whole Isle of Sonhar. Your father publicly recognised the wrongs and not only allocated our Isle more seats on the council but, as a gesture of willingness to maintain peace, lowered his title to a lord.’
‘Miriam told me that part.' My voice sounded scratchy since my throat had suddenly gone dry. ‘That’s when it ended?’
‘It worked for a while.’ Isaac’s scowl only deepened.
‘Then the lord fathered his firstborn with the daughter of a very outspoken sympathiser, and all hell broke loose once more. Nightmarists would not back down this time, demanding the respect they deserved. There was carnage; I had never seen anything like it before nor after.’
That meant… Alec’s mother was a sympathiser. Our father’s questionable life choices had disturbed me once more. Trying not to think about it, I forced myself to focus on anything else. ‘You fought?’
‘I did.' His masterful tone, accompanied by the slight rise of his head, showed me he felt pride about his involvement.
All the while I was stuck between feeling a dreadful sense that what happened after would devastate me and needing to know. ‘What happened after that?’
Isaac straightened, mirroring my posture. ‘There was only one solution to ensure our people couldn’t be targeted anymore.’
‘What?’
‘Have one on the inside, Ava. Having a royal representative would once and for all make our people included.’
No. They… ‘Miriam?’