by B N Miles
Mattie sighed and scratched the back of her head, her eyes darting to his. "We probably shouldn't be doing this where people can watch us at their leisure."
Was she implying they find a room?
She leaned toward him and rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes with a soft sigh. "I love you, you know."
Sam opened his mouth to say it back, something they've said to one another before that never had any connotations, but it did now.
He watched her face, clear of tension and utterly relaxed. She could have been sleeping. Did she mean 'I love you' like she used to mean it, or 'I love you and want to be with you'?
It didn't matter. He knew what kind of love he had. Both. And if she didn't, if she meant the sort of love people shared when they grew up together and fought through the slog of life side by side, then that was fine. She didn't need to love him like he loved her in order for him to love her to begin with.
He closed his eyes. "I love you too," he breathed.
Mattie brushed her nose against his before leaning away from him. Sam's eyes fluttered open and he gave her a questioning frown.
"I love you, but we can't be in this alone. I was serious earlier. We need more people in the crew. If we do this . . . if this turns into a romantic . . . thing, then we could isolate ourselves and all we'd have is each other. If Delcan gets it in his head . . ."
She huffed and looked out of the window.
A lot of things were going on in his mind. Crews. Delcan. Romance. It was unspoken, but it was there—she wanted to be with him. Sam wasn't worried about what threats the future held, not at that moment.
He cupped her jaw tenderly and turned her head to look at him. He brushed his thumb along her chin. "None of that will happen."
Sam drew her in and she let him until she was pressing into his lips. She broke the kiss all too soon, "Promise?"
"Promise."
She grinned and swiped at his bottom lip with her tongue, then she licked the tip of his nose and giggled when he jumped back.
Mattie was on her feet before he could get her back, her sheer shirt still bathed in soft moonlight, baring her almost completely from the hips up. His hands twitched.
"We'll start looking for recruits tomorrow. Deal?"
"Uh-huh."
Sam slowly stood to follow her, but she shoved him back into a seated position and wagged her finger at him.
"I don't think so, Sammy. You made me wait years for you, I think you can wait at least a week for me."
She didn't wait for his answer before she winked, turned around, and strutted down the hallway before slipping into her dorm without a single glance back at him.
The more he thought about waiting, the more it felt like agony. Images of Mattie and him together bubbled his crowded skull and he was standing at attention in seconds. He had a feeling he would be thinking about it all week. In fact, he may not be able to think of anything else.
She probably knew it, too. Mattie was his everything, but she was also the most vicious creature he'd ever met. The funny thing was, nobody ever saw it until it was too late. And despite knowing her for half his life, despite knowing how wicked she could be, he didn't know just how wickedly she would treat him until now.
Strangely, that made her all the more tempting.
7
Seven days used to feel like a breath in time to Sam. Always racing to find the next job, always running to catch up with survival as it darted a half-step ahead.
This particular seven-day stretch, however, felt like an eternity. Every hour he was awake, Sam was either in class, sleeping, eating, or throwing secret looks at Mattie, trying to get her alone so he could nuzzle into her hair and kiss along her jawline. It had become a fun challenge between them, trying to see if she would crack before the week was up. Twice, Sam thought she would throw her constriction to the wind and climb him like a tree. She had a strong focus, though, and she managed to control herself. He didn't know how she did it; he wasn't doing great, himself. The only thing that made him stop thinking about Mattie was class. At least there, she eased up on him and he was able to get lost in the knowledge he was soaking in.
His favorite class was outdoors training. They hadn't gotten to do much beyond building lean-to's and studying terrain impressions, but he was good at it. Sam had lived in the city all his life, had only set foot in a forest a couple of times, and yet he was structuring mud-thatched roofs like he'd done it for years.
There was more combat training, too. After the incident with Delcan, Hilda had limited them to unarmed katas and fitness training. She'd apparently gotten into some trouble with the administration for allowing the two of them to try to kill each other on the first day—the only reason Sam could guess that was because she forbade them from touching the weapons 'even though spilling blood is good for character, and thrice damn every milk-boned lowlander who whines about it.'
He thought the fitness training would be easier than weapons training, but he'd been very wrong. Given how effortlessly Hilda completed each exercise along with the class, Sam shuddered to imagine her people gathered as a screaming hoard.
His body felt like a used, pulped bag of meat by mid-week, but at least he wasn't alone. The nobles looked far more miserable than he was, so that gave him some satisfaction at least. Drina didn't look half as tired as the rest of them, but from hearing her talk of her home, it seemed that her freakish stamina came from hours of manual labor and exercise.
Then there was language class, mathematics, cipher class, poisons, speech, and all manner of things Sam wished he knew when he was younger. He wasn't picking them up as fast as he'd hoped, and his frustration made his enthusiasm billow away in favor of determination.
Mattie had been right about them isolating themselves, though. It was so easy to flirt with her and discuss whatever was on his mind that he accidentally booted Fletch and Drina out of the conversation more than he cared to admit.
Fletch took it in stride and didn't seem to be bothered by it. Drina was another matter. Ever since she caught the two of them in the alcove, she hadn't been as enthusiastic or talkative. She wasn't rude, per sey, but she was quiet. She would respond if somebody spoke to her directly, but it was like the vivacious soul had been sucked right out of her.
Sam could guess why. Her last wager against him, her behavior now—she hadn't just been fooling around. She liked Mattie.
Sure, she'd only known the redhead for a week, but that was plenty of time for an infatuation to form. He had to talk to Drina about it, they couldn't be a team if she hated his guts, but every time he approached her when she was alone, she would bristle and walk away. At least she didn't give Mattie the same treatment.
He'd feel worse about it if he hadn't been pining after the redhead for so long, if he didn't love her. But he had, and he did, and it wasn't his fault that Drina was salty about it. Her feelings were not his responsibility, and although he understood her disappointment, he wouldn't stop because of it.
"Ugh," Mattie groaned. She had taken to wearing a satchel to carry her books while Sam carried his under his arm. "I swear, if Sheet makes us do any more of those arm stands, I'm going to collapse."
Sam bit his tongue to keep himself from saying anything too forward with Fletch and Drina walking abreast of them. The week was up, and although he wasn't going to hold Mattie to some deadline like an asshole or pressure her, he wasn't going to wait for her to approach him that night either. She made her feelings clear, there was no reason for him to be cautious of her reaction or doubt his own observations.
"Arm stands? Ha. If he makes me do more than sit, I'm going to have a nervous breakdown." Fletch held out his arm. His dusky skin was pimpled with little almost-black bruises. Fingerprints, probably. Hilda had taken a special interest in Fletch, who she called 'Mimke." She vowed to make him a great warrior within the year, probably because he was as opposed to sweat and dirt as the noble girls. She used Fletch as a demonstration partner and flung him around
without breaking a sweat. Once, she even picked him up by the feet and slung him like a club. 'Teamwork,' she called it.
Sam rounded the entrance to the meditation tower, Mattie a step behind him, Fletch beside her, and Drina flanking them like a silent shadow.
Halfway up the spiraling stone stairway, a gaggle of voices echoed behind them, bouncing off the narrow walls. A man laughed and a woman told him to shut up. Sam didn't think anything of it until he heard his name, 'filthy lowborn' and 'today' being chittered along after it.
He looked over his shoulder and his group stopped automatically, the lot of them turning to look down the steps. Seconds later, Delcan's blonde head appeared and he locked eyes with Sam. To his credit, he didn't look surprised or sheepish that he'd been caught talking about him.
Instead, he sneered and walked up the stairs with the rest of his group as if nothing were amiss.
Sam turned back around and grit his teeth. Something today, then? Great, if Delcan wanted to keep antagonizing Sam, then Sam would meet the other man blow for blow. He just had to wait until Delcan made a move, no need to get a demerit for starting a prohibited fight.
After all, if he got too many of those, he'd be expelled. Forty in all, but a limit of five per semester. They couldn't very well expect perfect conduct from people gifted in the art of sneaking about and fleecing things. That's what the first semester syllabus said, anyway, but Sam had heard some of the other students talking about older family members surpassing the demerit limit without an expulsion.
"Hey Drina." Delcan's voice was as irritating as scraping metal. "We're having a little get-together tonight. You should come. I've got a bottle of clear spirit you'd probably like."
His voice was even more irritating now. Sam knew Drina wasn't stupid enough to go along with the man, but that didn't quash the desire to tell her what Delcan had said only a week past. He'd avoided telling both of the girls because they would be uncomfortable, and there was no reason because Delcan was just talking shit.
"Thanks, I'd love to, but I have to study. I'm a bit of an idiot, you see, so I've got to work extra hard to keep up."
Her voice was obviously sarcastic but it was also laced with irony, considering Delcan was too dense to get that she wasn't stupid enough to fall for any blatant attempts to get in her trousers.
"Yeah, I get that."
I bet you do.
"We've got a system for that, actually. See, Prin is our own little brainiac. And Ches, well, let's just say that Ches has a way of making the rest of us do just as well as Prin on tests. Oh!" Delcan snapped his fingers, as if he suddenly thought of something brilliant. "You know, if you aren't happy with your . . . friends, we happen to have room for one more. We'd make sure you didn't have to waste all night studying, and—"
Sam was almost at the top of the steps. He gave no warning when he turned around to snarl at Delcan to back off. He'd lost a crew member to a poacher once, and it set them back for months. Not to mention, at least where he came from, it was a bold attempt at emasculation and a blatant display of disrespect.
But he didn't have to say anything, because Mattie had moved so fast that even Sam didn't see it coming when she shoved Delcan backward. He stumbled and would have bounced down the steps and cracked his skull had his crew not caught him.
"If you know what's good for you, you'll keep away from our crew. I've cut men's throats for much less than poaching."
That was a lie. Mattie may have stabbed a few people here and there, but there had never been any throat-slitting. Delcan didn't have to know that, though. All Delcan had to know was that they were filthy quellers, and the low quarter was the most dangerous neighborhood in Central Varin. Ergo, they were criminals and wouldn't blink at spilling his blood.
Delcan's crew pushed him to stand upright and his face was stormy. That was the second time he'd been embarrassed by somebody in Sam's crew. Maybe he'd learn.
The blonde didn't have time to respond before Mattie looped her arm through Drina's and led the other woman quickly up the stairs, breezing past Sam and shooting him a look that was half anger, half worry as she glided into the open classroom.
Sam took one more glance over his shoulder and met Delcan's eyes. Sam saw violence behind them.
"Talent! Skill! Magic"
The Sheet—that was what he insisted on being called—was walking around the room, weaving himself between each student as he carried on with his lecture. Sam cracked his eye and caught a glimpse of the tall, wiry man as he crouched down to peer into Alfreda's relaxed face. The Sheet studied her for a moment, shot to his feet, and continued.
Sam closed his eye again before he was caught 'stagnating.'
Meditation was shit. It was by far the most useless class, though the girls seemed to like it well enough.
"Talent!" The Sheet stopped just behind Sam, his voice dropping into a sharp whisper. "Talent is the application of Will onto the Universe."
He bent and Sam could feel his teacher's breath stirring the hairs atop his head. "Talent is not the force of Will onto the universe, for what is forced is unnatural, and what is unnatural is rejected. To have patience, to open your center, to welcome everything and invite solidarity. That is Talent. All else is luck."
Sam held his breath and tried to keep absolutely still.
"Stagnater!"
He rapped Sam's head with his knuckles as if knocking on a door. Sam winced. The teacher was still standing behind him, he couldn't have possibly seen Sam's face, and yet he knew that Sam wasn't 'traveling.'
"You have not opened yourself again, Samson. Breathe and think of your color, your magic. Shadows. Blackness. The void that opens and swallows all, gathering everything that has ever been into its infinity. Black is the color of true power, shadow is the father element that all have sprung from, and yet you are still unable to do this simple exercise. Black trumps red, siphoning the radiant energy and replacing it with the absence of energy, imposing the Will of creation unto it by allowing all thought, all mass, all soul to entangle in the void, but you refuse to leave the world of the sun, the light, the red and white, and dissolve into the truth . . . of oblivion!"
The Sheet scoffed and stood straight before marching away, continuing his lecture as if he didn't just chastise Sam for being useless. Sam stared at his retreating form and shook his head.
Whatever. Loony old man.
As soon as he thought that The Sheet's head snapped aside, the profile of his crooked nose like a smashed bird's beak. His dark eye rolled in his skull and landed on Sam. They shared the briefest of stares before The Sheet turned his head and continued.
Even though it was an impossible power, Sam wasn't entirely convinced The Sheet couldn't read minds.
Sam, Mattie, and Drina were on their way to the mess hall after Meditation class. They took the shortcut through the alley behind the tower. It was usually empty, spirits knew why, and it was the only other place besides the garden that was dedicated solely to something simple and beautiful rather than harsh and utilitarian. Along both alley walls, from beginning to end, were smooth waterfalls that fell from perfectly shaped spaces between the stones and into clear, vivacious ponds stretching just as far, full of waterlilies and animals.
The sounds of the campus were drowned out by the gentle, constant splash of the water, the croak of fat frogs and the occasional chirp of a songbird.
Sam let his fingers glide through the waterfall as they made their way to lunch. Mattie was walking beside him, her fingers intertwined with his as she sang a pretty tune. It would be winter soon, and this pond wouldn't be as alive as it was now. He couldn't wait to see it in spring, when it would appear like something from a far away, impossible world.
"A girl so sweet, lo' there, he said, and the vase cracked in her hands. Haven't you a care, she said, you tread into my lands. You desecrate this sacred place, this altar of Arete. The shards fell in the mud below, like pearls laid at her feet. He bowed his head then wrapped them both with iron and with
bone, and she screamed out to the spirits that had left her all alone. Fire, shadow, sound and soul, all come north to meet. Your mother's blood, your father's might, it's all for me to keep."
"Geez Mattie, where did you hear that one?" Sam interrupted her song. It was deceptively cheery in tone, which made the lyrics eerier than if it had been somber.
She frowned hard and studied him for a few moments before she answered hesitantly, "You don't remember Old Code?"
The name was familiar, but it took him a moment to conjure the memory. When he did remember, Sam turned inward to recall the song. He was usually so good at remembering small things like that, he didn't know how he forgot it. And Old Code . . . why couldn't he remember the old homeless man outside of his toothless smile? The memories were scattered like bone dice, and whenever he tried to force the fuzziness away, his stomach churned. He stopped trying to remember.
"I do," Sam said. "I just don't remember the song."
He considered Drina as she walked far ahead of them, her form slowly morphing into something taller, skinnier, older. Old Code . . . Sam remembered . . . stop.
His stomach gurgled and his throat tightened like he was going to vomit and he squeezed his eyes shut against Drina's retreating form. When he opened them again, it was just Drina.
A new sound echoed through the alley. Footsteps. Multiple footsteps. Sam glanced behind his shoulder, expecting a group of older students. Instead, it was Delcan. Sam had almost forgotten about Delcan's attempt to piss him off earlier until he spotted the larger man stalking toward him from behind. He was silent, staring at Sam through hooded eyes that would have looked at home on a starving mongrel.
Two of his crew members were walking behind him as if he was some sort of battle commander.
It would be very stupid of Sam to meet the other crew head-on. Mattie must have thought the same thing, because she squeezed his hand and walked faster.