Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
The air in the halls is thick with suspicion and whispers.
Glances and tight nods are shared in passing. Silence falls when someone enters a room. Conversation feels weighted as if there’s more than one meaning behind every sentence—everything feels coded.
The separation between Veils and Noctryns is at an all-time peak.
Trust was thin before, but now it’s nonexistent.
Accusations are tossed about and insults slung.
The academy felt split in half. One side thrums with barely restrained power, whereas the other is heavy and cold with simmering dark magic.
Earlier in the halls, an intense argument between a second-year Veil and a third-year Noctryn resulted in the dark wielder’s cloak igniting in sparks by “accident.” Training sessions during combat practice have ended with frozen limbs, mind injuries from deep mental manipulation, and broken bones.
A few of the shifters have suffered extreme exhaustion from shifting too often under duress.
Makon was furious during our earlier class when a dark wielder’s eyes started bleeding from pushing past her limits.
It's chaos. Dangerous, catastrophic chaos.
Classes aren’t going much better. Ruins and Wards was a struggle for me this morning.
Finnley and most of the other Veils seem to be grasping it as the class progresses, but I haven’t been able to create one ruin or break a singular ward.
Half of the time, I don’t even know what they’re talking about, and let’s face it, besides Finnley, most aren’t willing to help.
Ambrose tried to tutor me during our astrology class—the one class we share together—but I ended up more confused. And once again, he was the only one who acknowledged my existence.
Sometimes I think it would have been better to place as a Noctryn instead of this in-between. It was the last thing I wanted, but I promise nothing is more isolating than not being able to relate to others. Being different automatically labels you as an outsider.
Being a Liminal labels you as a traitorous outsider.
It's a constant tug-of-war.
The usual sounds of the sparring gym greet me as I enter.
I make my way to the back, toss my bag down, and plop down beside it.
I grab my wrappings out of the side pocket and bring one across the back of my hand, through my fingers, and up my wrist multiple times like Kingston taught me.
By the time I finish the second hand, there’s still no sight of him.
I resort to watching others perfect their techniques while I wait.
Eryk is getting absolutely pummeled by a sharp uppercut from Koa.
Apparently, being the general’s son doesn’t buy you safety.
In fact, it looks detrimental. The tension between the students is bleeding over into the sparring rings if the grunts and body slams echoing through the gym are any indication.
Coincidentally, the first years are all paired with a student from the opposite regiment.
Lucky us.
They hate us and are significantly more advanced.
Eryk staggers to his feet, slightly swaying with a nasty-looking bruise already forming on his jaw. He tucks his head and charges Koa, who simply sidesteps his advance and watches him run into a hanging bag.
I let out a sharp exhale through my nose.
What an idiot.
I hear them before I see them. Heavy footsteps walk my way from the direction of a small office that sits in the opposite corner of my sparring mat.
Turning my head slightly, I watch Kingston and Corrine make their way over to me.
Both are deep in conversation and don’t pay me any mind.
Her hair is pulled up high on her head, but her curtain bangs hang flawlessly in place.
I will never master that level of looking put-together.
A muscle ticks in Kingston’s jaw as he listens to her speak. They’re within earshot when they simultaneously realize I’m sitting here, causing both to abruptly stop talking.
The corner of my lip slightly raises. He looks anything but thrilled to see me.
“Good. You’re here,” he states, his eyes moving to my wrapped hands. “And ready.”
“Considering it’s my class schedule, where else would I be?” I shoot back.
“Nice to see she hasn’t lost her redeeming personality,” Corrine says, crossing her arms and spreading her feet in what I assume is supposed to be an intimidating gesture.
Fun fact—It’s not.
“If she has any redeeming qualities, that’s not one I would list,” he responds dryly, stepping to the opposite side of the mat.
I roll my eyes. Whatever. “Are we sparring or not?”
“No,” he answers.
I lean back on my palms and kick my feet out. “Then, by all means, what are we doing?” I ask.
“Quinn is going to strength train with you. In case you two haven’t met, Quinn meet Caderyn, Caderyn meet Quinn.”
“You can call me Nori,” I say, looking up at her. No need for the formality of last names.
“You can call me Quinn,” she says flatly.
I ignore her and turn back to Kingston. “Why are we not working on combat techniques?”
His gaze falls on me completely. My fingers twitch against the mat. I feel unnerved. “You currently don’t have the strength to be efficient in any kind of battle,” he answers bluntly. Okay, no need to sugarcoat it.
“I’ve never heard him speak quite so eloquently. To be a bit more precise, he’s saying you’re soft. You’d be more of a hindrance in battle than a help,” Corrine casually flings in my direction.
Someone decided to wake up and be a rude bitch today.
Two can play that game.
And I play it better.
“Trust me, I read between the lines just fine,” I state, disdain dripping from my words.
“We’re going to start with bodyweight exercises,” Kingston informs me, his tone cool as he offers me his hand to help me up.
“Pull-ups, push-ups, you get the idea, and then move into combat conditioning. Once we get you where you need to be physically, we’ll move to weapons-based training and grappling.
” He drops my hand and steps back. “Then, when I think you’re ready, and only when I think you’re ready, we’ll transition into magic resistance training, as that’s all mental defense, which is infinitely harder than physical. ”
I bite my lip in hesitation, but give him a firm nod.
The following two hours are grueling. I feel like I’m going to vomit or pass out.
Possibly both at the same time. My cheeks are flushed, and my long waves hang in limp disarray.
Corrine pushed me past the limits I thought possible.
It’s like she has a personal vendetta against me and didn’t waste a precious second using it.
Every muscle and ligament in my exhausted body is currently screaming and thrashing in anguish.
Kingston paced the side of the mat the entire session, calling out weaknesses and pointing out places that needed improvement.
He was brutally honest and effortlessly efficient.
He wasn’t unkind, though. He didn’t set out to make me feel less than.
It was more about utilizing my full potential and becoming a formidable opponent.
It’s almost as if he knows I’m capable but sheltered.
Today, I was forced to be self-reliant and succeed on my own, or fail.
I rose to every challenge, even if I didn’t necessarily achieve what they asked of me. I still gave it my all, and now my soft, untrained muscles are thoroughly pissed.
Kingston stands over me, looking down at my exhausted form as I lie stretched out on the mat like a starfish. “We’ll continue this during every session, and you’ll meet with Quinn twice a week in the training field for additional practice,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for discussion.
Corinne scoffs. “At this rate, she should be in a desirable position by next year. If she’s lucky.”
Kingston tilts his head in her direction, and she immediately looks away.
I slowly sit up and rise to my feet, limping over to grab my bag.
I quickly remove my wrappings and shove them in the side pocket.
Gripping the edge of my shirt, I bring it up to wipe the sweat from my brow.
As I turn to leave, I catch Kingston watching me.
His eyes lift just enough to meet mine—quick and deliberate— before he averts his gaze and walks over to speak with Corinne and another Noctryn who joined them.
I don’t take offense to his curt dismissals anymore. He does what needs to be done, accomplishes the task, and moves on. It’s efficient and oddly works for me.
All action and less talk.
It’s just who he is.
Soft chatter and the clinking of silverware greet me as I meet Finnley and Mallory in the dining hall.
Exhausted, sore, sweating, and starving, I force my broken body to grab a lunch tray and overload it with fruits, sweets, and a full entrée.
I limp through the crowded tables, heading toward my friends.
I plop down in an open seat and immediately groan. Mallory’s eyes widen, and Finnley lets out a low whistle. I raise my shoulder in a half shrug. I’m not the least bit embarrassed about my appetite. “Hush,” I mutter. “I feel like death and still have three more classes to attend.”
“You smell like death, too,” Finnley supplies.
“How’s the class load coming along?” Mallory asks, shooting Finnley a murderous look as she moves her salad around with her fork.
“It’s not. I’m struggling in every Veil class, and I’m getting my ass handed to me in the Noctryn ones,” I answer monotonously. I’m too tired to even add inflection to my voice.
“It’ll get easier,” she offers, her tone softening.
Finnley nods in agreement. “If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn’t mess with you right now,” he says around a mouthful of food.
“It doesn’t,” I say in a defeated voice, although I give him a small smile because I can only imagine how I look.
I dig in while they continue to chat. The hunger in me is voracious. I’ve completely checked out and am in my own little world when I hear the word dark object mentioned. I swallow my food half-chewed and sit forward a little. “Have they found it?” I quickly ask.
“Nope,” Finnley answers simply. “They also haven’t found the missing professor.”
Mallory sets her fork down. “I do find it odd that the professor who disappeared last year was also a Veil, and his room was in complete disarray as well. Almost as if someone was looking for something.” She quirks her lip to the side, drumming her fingertips along the table.
“Just a little convenient that both were instructors of light magic.”
“Was anything missing from their rooms?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not that I’ve heard. It was mentioned that Professor Huntsal was seen talking to Eryk Porter shortly before she was reported missing. From what I’ve heard the conversation looked a little tense before Eryk stormed off.”
“She was the language professor, right?” I ask.
“Yep, she was. I had her second period,” Finnley chimes in.
I take a large bite of my cookie, pondering why a professor of languages and a dark object would go missing at the same time. “What did the professor teach that went missing last year?” I ask around the mouthful of cookie.
“A guy in my ethics class, Murphy, told me he taught alchemy before Professor Lyric took over,” Mallory answers.
Language and alchemy are vastly different. Why would both go missing nearly a year apart? Even more confounding is that both occurred at the same time that a dark object went missing.
What are we overlooking?
“Has the academy let anyone in the student body know exactly what dark objects were taken?”
“Nope. Evidently, that’s classified.” Finnley sits back in his chair and rubs his stomach.
The corners of Mallory’s mouth turn down as she lets out an exaggerated sigh. “In other news, my manifestation is royally pissing me off,” she whines.
“Wait, what? You fully manifested?” I shriek. “Tell me everything!”
She blushes and looks around before breaking into a wide smile. “I did.”
I motion for her to continue, needing all the details.
“Apparently, it’s a foreseeing ability. However, at the moment, everything is as clear as mud.
I can see different probable outcomes, but not why they change, and let me tell you, they alter vastly,” she groans as she rubs the back of her neck.
“Thus far, even with practice, nothing has panned out the way I predicted it would happen.” Her brows dip and her lips thin, causing her face to morph into a crestfallen appearance.
“Mallory, that’s invaluable… You’ll be incredibly sought after when we graduate.
You could sway the outcomes of battles and negotiations, and save lives.
That’s beyond powerful,” I tell her. Her manifestation is incredibly respected in the army.
I’ve even heard my mother talk about it in high regard, and that’s saying something.
“It’s all a bit overbearing at the moment.”
Finnley is suddenly quiet and staring at his plate.
“What about you, Finnley?” I ask, wiggling my brows at him. “Have you…?” I trail off at the blank expression on his face.
“It’s too soon to know where it’s headed. Best to hold off talking about it until I’m sure,” he evades.
I kick his foot playfully under the table.
“I’m sure whatever it is will be just as impressive as Mallory’s,” I offer, taking the hint that he doesn’t want to talk about it.
“I mean, at least you both are manifesting, regardless of how murky it all is right now. So many already did during the blood initiation, and then others are slowly coming into their powers like you both. And then there’s me.
” I pat my chest. “I haven’t shown anything,” I say, hoping to boost their morale a bit with self-deprecation.
“You will, Nori. Give yourself time. There haven’t been many Liminals before you. To be part of each regiment is impressive enough in itself,” Finnley offers with his usual customary support.
“I don’t know about impressive, but it sure is isolating,” I whisper.