Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
The desk shakes as I drop my head.
A groan escapes.
We’ve been practicing shadow craft for over an hour, and if failure were a currency, I’d be rich.
When Professor Rinkin informed us we’d be at our most vulnerable when learning to wield, she wasn’t kidding.
I’ve tried everything from intense concentration to ridiculous hand movements.
I even resorted to the deepest pits of depravity and asked Kingston for advice.
He not only gave it, but also poured himself into the explanation, as if his own success were on the line.
Sometimes I think he wants me to succeed in the dark classes just to be able to rub Ambrose’s face in it.
Other times, I’m not so sure of his motivations.
At times, I think he despises me. But then I’m not so sure.
He’s a walking contradiction that I can’t figure out.
Shadows swirl in every direction in the class.
Some small, like smoke erupting from students’ fingertips, and others dark and volatile, like death on swift wings.
Laughter erupts from someone close by as they grasp the concept of control.
It’s one thing to cast a shadow, but another entirely to control them.
At least from what I’ve been told. It really is beauty in the most brutal form.
Something so ethereal and mysterious, yet also full of potential to decimate someone.
As most beautiful things are.
“I’ve yet to see casting accomplished with one’s head on a desk, but I’m open to trying,” Kingston drawls.
Without lifting my head, I give him the middle finger.
It’s like our signature greeting at this point.
A deep and sinister laugh comes from above me, practically causing me to have whiplash as I sit up. “Excuse me, good sir, but did you just laugh?” I ask in an incredulous tone.
“Believe it or not, it does happen on rare occasions,” he replies straight-faced, like it, in fact, never happened.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Prove it. Do it again,” I order.
“The probability of me laughing on command is the same as you wielding on command.”
I pause. “Geeze, you don’t have to be an ass.”
“And you don’t have to pout.”
“I’m not pouting. I’m simply giving up. There’s a difference.” I drop my head back on the desk.
“Then you are definitely not a Noctryn. Glad we got that sorted,” he states with apathy.
I raise my head slightly. “I never wanted to be,” I remind him, giving him a sharp look.
A dark chuckle slips free. “Let me guess. You still bleed the colors of a Veil, holding onto that false sense of righteousness,” he mocks. “Veil. It really is a fitting name. Lift it and you might not like what you see.”
I hold his gaze in challenge. “Are you insinuating that abandoning my birth magic only to engulf myself in dark arts is more genuine and pure? More righteous?”
“At this point, you haven’t manifested either, so it’s a moot point,” he responds flatly.
Ouch. Someone woke up and chose violence today.
“When my powers decide to finally make themselves known, they will without a doubt be on the light spectrum. So don’t bother getting your hopes up.”
A smile curves along his lips. “Trust me, if this class is any indication, they were never up.”
I scrunch my nose and tilt my head. “Well, unfortunately for me, I didn’t have a choice in who my partner was, so it seems we both got the short end of the stick.”
“You wound me, Heathen.”
He doesn’t look wounded in the slightest.
In fact, he looks bored.
“I could be so lucky.”
He gives me a stare that could bury me and appraises me with those black-rimmed eyes. Unnatural, otherworldly and mysterious. It’d be so easy to squirm under his assessment, but I won’t. For some reason, I don’t like the idea of him thinking of me as timid. I’m better than that.
“Like what you see?” I ask in a dry tone.
“It’s more about what I don’t see, Caderyn. There’s zero grit, effort or determination on your part.” His words are sharp and cutting.
“Are you kidding me right now? I am trying! I’m doing my best to pull something that’s not there from an empty well.
I am not a Noctryn!,” I repeat for the hundredth time.
“The sooner you and I both accept that, the better. Then I can get out of these classes and focus on the ones that really matter.”
He shakes his head. “With that projection, you’ll never wield.
As a Liminal, you have dark abilities, whether you like it or not.
They may be subtle, but they’re there. It could be in just your thought process and not necessarily in magic, but it’s there.
” His lips pull up in a snarl. “If it wasn’t there, you wouldn’t be a Liminal.
You would have tested inconclusive by not placing in either and swiftly executed.
” He softly laughs. It doesn’t sound friendly.
“You, however, placed in both. Get up, straighten your spine, and try again. And again, if needed. You don’t get to quit while at this academy and certainly not while under my mentorship,” he bites out.
“I never asked for your mentorship,” I remind him.
He just looks at me with disappointment, which is worse than anger.
If this man, who doesn’t even like me, isn’t giving up on me, then I certainly won’t give up on myself. Whether I like him or not, he’s spitting facts. Even if they are a bit hard to swallow.
I close my eyes, place my palms up, and focus everything I have on bringing forth some kind of shadow.
Professor Rinkin said it comes from our core.
It’s like taking a deep breath and exhaling the shadows out into the world.
They’re an extension of ourselves, a small fraction of our very essence being released to protect and defend.
I’m not sure what to do when my core keeps coming up empty.
No matter how long I focus and will it to cooperate, nothing happens.
“It’s better to fail than not try,” Kingston says quietly.
I peel my eyes open to meet his satisfied stare.
Perhaps it’s not so much that he wants me to show the darker qualities, but more so that he doesn’t want to see me give up on myself. I honestly cannot figure out this perplexing man. There are so many layers to him, so much more than the surface level of indifference he shows the world.
The professor claps loudly, signaling the end of class.
His satisfied expression dissolves as he reaches a hand toward me. “Walk with me?”
I stare at his hand with suspicion. “Why, are you planning on taking me somewhere isolated to get rid of me once and for all?”
“And allow my ego to get out of hand without someone to insult me routinely?”
A reluctant smile dances across my lips as I grab my pack, take his hand against my better judgment, and stand.
We make our way down the noisy halls, preventing any real conversation. Heading down the dimly lit corridor, he leads the way and cuts through the crowd with ease. To my surprise, he veers right instead of toward the entrance and heads up a winding staircase.
I follow closely behind as students pass us by, throwing curious glances our way.
The Liminal clothed in gray on the heels of a man cloaked in the same color as his soul. One ostracized and the other feared.
We make a striking pair.
He pushes a heavy door open at the end of a narrow passageway, and we exit onto the battlements.
I pull my sleeves down over my hands and step out onto the cold, worn stones.
It’s freezing, and the snow keeps falling.
I take in my surroundings of snowcapped mountains and glistening pines as far as the eye can see.
Tendrils of crimson hair blow around my face as I tilt my head back, catching a few snowflakes on my tongue.
I hope I never stop being in awe of the beauty of snow.
It coats everything in a blanket of silence, allowing me to shut off the noise in my head.
Endless white powder on every surface, makes everything seem untouched by man.
Pure and pristine. It’s a reminder that magic is all around us, appearing in the most inconspicuous ways.
A reminder I certainly needed.
“You were made to live somewhere it snows,” Kingston says, watching me catch the snowflakes. His rich baritone washes over me.
“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” I ask, wiping a few flakes off the tip of my nose.
His eyes linger on me longer than necessary. “Besides being a pale redhead that should probably avoid the sun?”
I level him with a flat stare.
He leans closer, voice low. “Because you appreciate the beauty in cold things. Things that can be deadly and harsh but treat the right person with reverence.”
Pulling back, he walks over to the battlement wall.
I swallow.
Well, that was poetic and unexpected. “And here I was thinking you brought me up here just to push me over,” I say to his back.
The black fabric of his uniform hugs his form. His hair, dark as midnight and slicked back flawlessly, is dusted with fresh snowflakes. “Careful, you almost sounded grateful,” he replies over his shoulder, his lips curling into a smirk.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say you like having me around.”
He turns toward me, his body rigid. “I brought you up here to talk freely, without prying ears.”
I scrunch my brow in confusion at the turn of the conversation.
“Are you familiar with the history between the Noctryns and the Veils?”
I give a slight nod in response. “History happens to be a favorite subject of mine.”
His jaw tenses. “That’s not history, that’s what they teach you. What they want you to know,” he replies in a low tone.
“Are they not one and the same?”
“Hardly.”
“By all means, indulge me, then.”