Chapter 8 #4
“Welp, just you and me now,” he murmurs in my ear, watching them go. “Finally, alone.”
There he is. For a second, I thought this trial might have robbed him of his jokes.
“You, me, and the monsters ahead of us,” I retort, shaking my head.
“We’ll just kick Mallory out of the little shindig tonight, and you and I can have our very own party. Nothing but alone time,” he says in that thick drawl of his.
“Un-fucking-likely,” a voice of steel responds directly behind us.
Spinning on my heel, I come face-to-face with the one person I need like my next breath of air. His hardened features take Finnley in from head to toe before turning to me and instantly softening. Warmth coats my cheeks just from being the focal point of his intense stare.
This is getting out of hand. I need to man up and make a move or stop pining for him. I can’t live in this in-between for the rest of my life.
It’s excruciating.
The thought of staying in this stagnant place of constant want, mixed with the fear of rejection, causes my heart to physically hurt. The only thing worse would be for me to confess my feelings only to find out it’s all one-sided.
That would not be survivable.
He reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
As he pulls his hand back, his thumb gently caresses the side of my face and the rough calluses on his palms scratch my cheek.
Is he just as torn as I am, and the danger I’m about to face is bringing it all to the surface?
Or am I reading too much into it and seeing what I want to see?
He grips my jaw, forcing my head to tilt back. “I miss seeing you under better circumstances,” he says in a teasing tone.
I miss seeing him altogether, but I’ll refrain from saying that. “Yeah, it tends to be more fun when one of us isn’t fighting for our lives.”
“Who’s he?” he demands, turning his head and looking directly at Finnley.
“He is standing right here,” Finnley drawls. His arms are folded across his chest, and his eyes move from me to Ambrose and back again. He lifts a brow, waiting for an introduction.
“This is Finnley. Finnley, meet Ambrose.”
I keep it short and sweet. That’s all we have time for.
Finnley throws a lazy smile toward Ambrose. It could be deemed innocent, but I know him well enough to know it’s full of gloat and dripping with antagonization.
Ambrose’s lips draw together in a thin line. Apparently, it’s somewhat obvious after all.
He turns toward me, giving Finnley his back, and cranes his neck down to look into my eyes. “I’ll do everything I can to be at the finish line when you cross—"
“When we cross,” Finnley interjects over Ambrose’s shoulder.
“—but if I’m not, just know that someone is filling me in the moment you step foot outside those walls.”
It guts me to think he might not be there when I complete the last trial of Asylamation.
I know it’s not up to him, that we’re expected not to ask questions when they say jump, just start fucking jumping.
It still sucks, though. When I cross that line, it’s the first time I’m on the same playing field as him, an actual student at the academy.
He should be there to see it happen. To support me in not dying, at the very least.
Instead of saying all of this, I just give him a subtle nod.
Bury it deep down and keep going.
My insides feel like they’re in knots, but I’m good at pretending everything is okay. “I’ll see you on the other side,” I say, grabbing his hand and squeezing.
A loud sigh comes from Finnley. “Well, if you two aren’t going to kiss, then we’d better get a move on,” he states matter-of-factly.
Ambrose turns slightly toward him, and I take the opportunity to shoot daggers at him with my eyes, promising a slow, torturous death. “You’d better take care of her in there, or I’ll bring you back to life just to kill you again.”
He doesn’t acknowledge the kiss comment.
“You can’t do that.” Finnley laughs before stopping altogether at the look in Ambrose’s eyes. He gulps and looks at me, slightly terrified. “Can he do that?”
“That would require dark magic, something you wouldn’t catch a Veil touching,” I answer evenly, although at the moment, murdering him and bringing him back to life sounds like a grand idea.
I tuck that little dark tendency away with everything else and squeeze Ambrose’s hand tightly. “I’ll be fine. I promise. Pinky.”
There’s a strain in my voice, but I’m proud of myself for it not wobbling as I hold up my pinky finger on my other hand.
What if this is the last time I see him? The last time I get to stare into those clear blue eyes or at the wide smile that I’ve been on the receiving end of too many times to count.
“I’m going to hold you to that, Nori,” he promises in an agonized tone.
I know it kills him that he’s so helpless right now when it comes to me. He raises his hand, looping his much larger pinky with my smaller one, sealing our promise.
It can’t be broken now.
I’ve never broken a pinky promise to him, and I don’t intend to start today.
I reluctantly watch him turn and walk off to his comrades, his stride confident and full of authority.
The brown fighting leathers accent every hard ridge his body has been honed into.
A longbow hangs loosely over his back, a favored option for the Veils who don’t particularly prefer hand-to-hand combat.
That’s one characteristic he didn’t inherit, however.
I’ve seen him take on three to four men at once and not only come out victorious but laughing.
It’s all a game to him… or it was.
He looks pretty serious at the moment, though, speaking with his fellow captains.
All business. His brows are pulled down in a tight line, with an unforgiving glare being directed at the captain across from him.
If their body language is any indication, they’re arguing about something.
She looks just as pissed as he does. If I’m being honest, possibly more so.
Her finger jabs him in the chest, and her face is scrunched in fury.
Not wanting to get caught staring, I grab Finnley’s elbow, and we make our way over to the first set of doors. Trepidation is heavy in every step we take. We both know it. We’re just trying to do each other a solid and not let it show.
“Wow, they’re even bigger up close.”
I turn toward Finnley, who’s staring at the steel doors, his eyes looking them up and down. “Yeah,” I breathe. “They are.”
The doors are huge.
I originally thought they were steel, but it looks to be something more malleable. Something more viable, as if it has a life and heartbeat of its own.
These aren’t normal doors.
Two dark upperclassmen motion us forward.
We’re the last to enter maze one, and only a few are in line for the other two mazes.
Finnley and I don’t speak as they write something down on the clipboards in their hands.
They opted for their fighting leathers today, just like the Veils did.
There are slight differences, though, besides one being black and the other brown.
The Noctryns have multiple sheaths for their daggers and various weapons strapped to their bodies.
The Veil’s brown leathers tend to have less weaponry in mind.
Most don’t need it since they manifest an ability and prefer it over steel.
It’s as if the gods gifted the Veils these destructive powers for staying light and true, and they took back the powers gifted to the Noctryns, replacing them with nebulous shadows and dark magic for their cores being impure.
It’s always a give-and-take, isn’t it?
Also, I won’t admit this out loud, but the latter really does look badass.
“You two know the rules. Finish together or repeat the trial. Stay alive, or both of you end up dead,” the male Noctryn relays in a tone that lacks absolutely any empathy.
He’s just following orders to be here. It matters not who lives or dies to them, when, at this point, they don’t even know which side we’ll end up placing on if we survive.
Heavy emphasis on the if.
And to be perfectly honest, most Noctryn tend to think we’d be better off dead than placing Veil. Vice versa for the Veils.
The female at his side moves her head from side to side, cracking her neck. I take an involuntary step back when she makes a move toward me.
“Relax, I’m just issuing your malediction. No need to be so jumpy.”
I watch her pull a metallic-looking pen out of her pocket, the end sharp and jagged. I make absolutely no move to step forward. If she wants to curse me, she’s going to have to come to me.
Captain or not.
I’ve never had a curse placed on me, and I’m not exactly eager to check that off my bucket list. Especially when it comes at the end of a lethal-looking quill pen.
Her lips pull into an annoyed frown as she looks from me to Finnley.
I don’t care. And from Finnley’s expression, he doesn’t appear to either.
“I’m going to ask you once and only once. Step forward for your malediction.”
My fingers dig into my palms. It’s like asking someone to jump off a cliff instead of just pushing them. She could at least offer a small mercy and come to me instead of asking my body to cooperate when it vehemently doesn’t want to.
The male Noctryn has clearly reached his limit in the patience department and starts toward Finnley.
“Ok, ok, we’re coming,” I cry out before he can reach him.
I flinch at the look Finnley is directing toward the captain and reach out to grab his hand. At this point, besides Ambrose, he’s my closest friend and ally and about to be my lifeline. I need him to be levelheaded. And not disintegrated by a pissed-off Noctryn captain.
The dark wielder may only be in his second year at the academy, but even at that level, he could incinerate us with his dark magic right where we stand. Or end us with the wicked-looking dagger hanging from his hip.
Either way, it would suck.
I doubt I’d even have time to reach for my hidden weapon before his would be at my throat.
We’re basically helpless newborns in our first year at the academy, let alone during trial week.
I put on a brave face and step forward, pulling Finnley with me.
He cooperates, thank the gods, and allows me to drag him forward.
He makes absolutely zero effort to hide the distaste on his face, though.
I pinch the inside of his arm.
Hard.
He averts his focus to me instead. “You’ve got my attention, love. Was there something you needed?” he asks in a sarcastic tone.
Yes, I need you to fix your face.
Instead of replying, I stop directly in front of the female captain, openly ignoring the fact that Finnley is now staring at the side of my head.
“Extend your arm,” she demands.
Hesitantly, I hold out my arm. The skin pinches as she grips it firmly, then turns it over and lifts my sleeve.
I wince.
goose bumps rise on the pale skin of my wrist.
The contents of my stomach are going to come up as she places the sharp tip of the pen on my exposed wrist while pressing down and drawing blood.
Her eyelids flutter closed, and she raises her face to the clouded sky. “Bound by trial, forged by trust, your lives are now combined. Thus, you now must stay alive, or both shall become blood dust,” she mutters in a strange voice while smearing my blood in spiral shapes.
The drawing resembles what the inside of a maze might look like, with swirls and various circles. I’ve just had dirty blood magic performed on me, and all I can focus on is the abstract shapes now etched into my wrist.
She slowly lowers her face and opens her large feline-shaped eyes. Her pupils are completely blown, making her eyes appear black.
A sharp grunt from my left pulls my attention to Finnley and the now bleeding wrist he’s holding as well. We have matching blood smears. Wonderful.
The deep baritone of the same curse washes over me again as it’s recited over his wrist by the other captain.
Our lives are now truly combined. At least until we cross that finish line.
Both Noctryns pull open the metal doors, the hinges creaking and bellowing under the weight as their fully darkened eyes beckon us through.
A deep musky smell penetrates my nostrils immediately.
It smells like damp earth and long-buried secrets.