The Last Bell: Great Falls Academy, Episode 9

by Alex Lidell

  The entire courtyard falls silent at once, gasps and screams dying into soft weeping and moans of fear. Right near me, a young blond boy with deep tear tracks running down his soot-blackened face watches Owalin with numb terror, neck craned back on his shoulders.

  “I have yet to see any clerks with parchment or remaining mortal kings join me in the Great Hall.” Owalin’s relaxed words echo from the balcony, strands of wind magic magnifying them over the courtyard. “Though I am a generous and fair-minded male, you will discover that I am not one to enjoy repeating myself.”

  “We are still looking for everyone, sir.” Sage holds a speaking trumpet to his lips, coughing wetly before continuing. “But I am Sage, the headmaster of Great Falls Academy. Perhaps you and I can come to an understanding.”

  “You are useless.” Owalin replies. “But that is all right. I believe that with the right motivation, hamsters can be taught obedience.” He turns toward the enclosed mezzanine behind him. “Get the first one.”

  Despite the threat, nothing happens for the next several moments, and I continue quickly toward the infirmary, keeping my head down. The Academy—the entire mortal world—needs River to get through this as much as my quint needs him. One look at Sage’s sad attempt at leadership makes the truth plain enough. My heart pounds a quick but steady beat as I reach the edge of the courtyard—just in time to hear a terrified wail of pain sound from the Great Hall.

  Twisting around, I mark the open shutters on the mezzanine just in time to watch in terror as a uniformed Prowess athlete is shoved headfirst through the window. The young man flies through the air with a scream, his limbs twisting and scrambling for some purchase. The crack of his neck as he lands is as deafening to my immortal ears. As is the keening howl of a tall, thin man with a crown on his head, trying to get through the guards holding him back.

  Stars. A son. That young man was someone’s son. My throat tightens.

  A tall woman, elegant even in her soot-stained blue gown, screams with grief, bending over the boy’s broken body.

  The young boy to my left is sobbing now, his mother burying his face in her dress.

  Owalin stands calmly through it all, watching with a perverted interest—as if the grieving mother and dead son were a pair of rats caught in a trap. “I have three more children from the royal family of Fothom.” Owalin’s voice fills the courtyard once more. “Until his majesty of Fothom—who I see flopping like a fish there—joins me, I will be tossing the darlings out at one-hour intervals. We are having a conference of monarchs here, you see, and it’s very difficult to do so with half our cadre missing.”

  He turns to go as the Fothom king fights the guards to get to the Great Hall.

  “Wait,” Sage shouts into the speaking trumpet. “How do we know you won’t kill the kings the way you killed the Fothom king’s son?”

  “Oh for stars’ sake.” Owalin sounds exasperated as he turns back. “I am not here to murder kings, but to work with them. If I wanted the kings dead, I’d simply have killed them all by now. To demonstrate—”

  A flash of sunlight reflecting off an arrowhead in the same mezzanine window makes my heart jump. “Down!” I holler with all my strength just as the bowman looses his arrow.

  Sage—not one to be told twice when to hide—throws himself on the ground a moment before the projectile slices the air above his head and lodges itself in a bystander’s calf instead.

  Owalin chuckles over the screams. “One hour,” he calls over tolling bells, now marking the time as five o’clock.

  One hour. One hour to heal River. One hour to save another innocent life. Without another breath, I turn to sprint toward the infirmary once more.

  “You!” The shove from my left comes with unexpected force before I can take my second step. I stumble from the hatred saturating the word as much as from the power of the shove.

  Recovering my footing, I twist around to see a large bald man I vaguely recognize as one of the Academy blacksmiths, Thad. In the remaining silence of the courtyard following Owalin’s departure, Thad’s shout had echoed loudly, drawing the immediate attention of those nearby.

  “What’s going on?” I demand.

  The man’s beefy hand tightens around a mallet in his wide leather tool belt, the heavy metal hammer whispering from its sheath with deadly malice. “You’re one of them.” He spits a glob onto the ashy cobblestones, his brown eyes hard. “Those fae murderers.”

  Behind him, more and more people flock toward us, the fear and rancor in their scent shoving itself into my lungs. Many of the foreign royals merely look confused, but the cadets who know me are turning quickly from shell-shocked into furious. I see Rik and Puckler, mouths twisted with fury—and grim satisfaction.

  My muscles tighten, my vision narrowing on the crowd, my fae ears picking up their spreading murmurs.

  “…evil…disguised as a cadet…”

  “…fae filth!”

  “I knew there was something off about her…”

  It clicks with a sudden, painful jolt, blood draining from my face as I jerk up a hand to trace my pointed ear. The amulet was destroyed—and with it, all the spun illusions the magic created. In the heat of the moment with Shade, storming out from the library into the unfolding disaster, I forgot that the amulet I’ve grown used to wearing was no longer there—and didn’t so much as cover my pointed ears.

  Thad takes a step forward, menace riding in his wake.

  I tense, feeling magic begin to fill my core. If I thought the full force of my power difficult to control before, it is doubly so now, with my instincts protecting not my life alone. “Easy, Thad,” I say, putting up my palms. “Let me explain. Please. There is enough violence without us adding more.”

  “Kill her!” The woman I saw bent over the fallen athlete’s body glares at me now with pulsing hatred, her crown of rich red braids coming undone around her mottled face. “No, cut off her ears first and send them to her friends in the Great Hall. Let them know that what they do to ours, we’ll do to theirs.”

  Voices rise in agreement, Thad hefting the mallet in his hand.

  “Friends in the Great Hall? No.” I raise my voice, struggling to be heard over the rising chaos. Blood races through my veins, the ground trembling beneath me with a fine warning tremor that has as many people rushing away from me as reaching for their weapons. I swallow. “I’m not with Owalin. I came to protect you, not harm you. I’m on your side.”

  “She lies!” An older woman who seems to be wearing a live green snake instead of a scarf strides out in front of the crowd and points a long finger at me. “I saw her set fire to the arena, helping Owalin take the hall!”

  My stomach drops, all hope that I’ll escape this unscathed sinking away with it. Shade was right. I was so stupid—so incredibly stupid to come out here.

  “I saw it too! She unleashed a firestorm atop us all. Women. Children. Everyone!” a man shouts from deeper in the crowd, and other voices join his. “My wife is on her deathbed because of this…this creature! I demand justice.”

  The crowd shifts, the snake and her equally venomous owner both hissing as the calls of “Liar! Liar! Take her!” race across the courtyard. “Justice now! Don’t let that thing escape!”

  A wave of fear rushes through me. I open my mouth to shout that it was an accident, but even I know that nothing of the sort would help.

  The crowd advances on me, Thad, the snake lady, and the Fothom queen leading the pack.

  I step back to give myself space. Breathing room to think.

  It’s a mistake. Like the scent of wounded prey in a predator’s nose, my retreat sends a renewed energy through the pulsing mob. With each new heartbeat, more people reach down to grab stones, pull daggers, wrap belts around their knuckles.

  The air around me tightens.

  “Get back. Now.” A cold voice that’s plainly used to bellowing commands over battlefields blankets the waiting crowd. Men and women part on instinct before Coal, whose rigid muscles
and blazing blue eyes leave no room for argument.

  The wave of relief is so strong, it nearly makes me dizzy. Tye stalks beside the warrior, stone-cold murder flashing in every sleek angle of his face, his hair nearly bloodred under the growing thunderclouds. Pushing in front of me, he raises his hands in the air and the Academy flag flapping on the top keep bursts into orange flame that sends a rush of sudden silence through the yard.

  “Are you all right, mortal?” Coal murmurs, fear flashing in his eyes as he hands me one of the two swords on his back. The feel of solid steel in my hand is as comforting as the male’s fierce, metallic-scented presence. And as problematic. What good are we at protecting the mortal world from stray magic and rogue fae if we kill the lot of them in the process?

  Coal and Tye’s approach has created a wide space between us and the humans, like two sides meeting on a battlefield.

  I shift my weight in the shuffling, scraping silence, noting a flash of red up in a mezzanine window. Owalin watching us—watching and probably laughing as the humans waste precious minutes facing off against the wrong enemy. Three ravens circle high overhead, wheeling in the coming storm.

  “Now what?” Tye asks us under his breath.

  Before Coal or I can respond, a new cry rises amid the human crowd. “Kill them! Kill them all!”

  3

  Lera

  “Halt!” River’s commanding voice shackles the entire courtyard in place. ”Take a knee. Every damn one of you.”

  Heart slamming against my ribs, I spin to see the male himself striding from the library’s entrance into the courtyard, power trailing around him in a cape of sunlight. River, alive. Walking. As if the past few hours never happened. His sure steps toward the center of the courtyard betray nothing of his brush with death—though it is written all too clearly in Shade’s face. The healer walks a few steps behind, making no effort to conceal the predatory fury roaring in his yellow eyes.

  Fury that’s directed as much at the gathering mob as at me. A trickle of blood snakes from the corner of Shade’s mouth where my fist had landed. The male wipes it with the back of his hand.

  My chest clenches.

  With his short dark hair brushed back, River’s pointed ears are exposed in all their immortal glory. If I ran outside without a single thought as to what my appearance would evoke in the Academy, River made his choice deliberately. I almost let out a sob of relief when I see them—proof that this is the real River, my River, which means he must have gotten his memories back when the quint joined. I wait for him to look at me, for some sign of love or recognition or union—any of the things I’ve longed for with my whole being for too many months.

  But he keeps his eyes on the mob, no sign of his thoughts visible. Given how sharply the very air in the courtyard is vibrating with tension, holding his entire focus on the humans is probably a good thing—no matter how much I wish River to be holding me instead.

  Still bare to the waist, with streaks of dried blood clinging to the taut skin of his ribs and muscled abdomen, he holds himself as if making entrance into a ballroom—the effect of which is lost on no one, least of all the royal families gathered outside. Yes, they see he is fae, but they feel the power of his throne as well—we all do—whether they know it or not.

  “You?” Wheeling toward River, Thad raises the mallet in his hand. The blacksmith’s face is equal parts murderous and terrified, the thin light leaking through the clouds reflecting off his bald head in silver spots. “I knew you were—”

  “In charge?” River asks coolly. “Yes. That I am.”

  “Then I demand justice!” The Fothom queen’s keening voice rises to the sky, her finger pointing at me. “Set her aflame as she did us.”

  “Burn her!” Thad shouts, picking up the idea. “Burn that—”

  Thad’s words falter, and he grabs his own throat, falling to his knees as a band of Shade’s silver magic tightens around his neck. I’ve never seen Shade use his healing to hurt before, and the terror of it rushes through me just as it ripples through the crowd.

  “Shade—”

  The male’s furious gaze cuts to me, raking my soul with comprehension. He hates it. Hates cutting off a man’s air instead of helping him breathe—but he’s doing it anyway. Using viciousness to draw the mobs’ ire from me to himself. To dilute their calls to drag me to the gallows of justice.

  River raises his hand, and the silver band disappears immediately, Shade’s obedience to his commander’s orders as powerful as the choke hold had been. “Does anyone else need assistance doing as I ask?” River demands.

  As if in agreement, thunder suddenly claps overhead, eliciting muffled shrieks from some of the children in the courtyard.

  The crowd lowers to their knees. Guards and servants first, then students. Then the royals themselves. I can see the many thoughts crossing their faces, especially those of Academy students and staff—processing that the deputy headmaster, who’s kept such a firm, orderly grip on the Academy all this time, is fae. From disbelief to betrayed anger to fear…to rare and slow flickers of comprehension.

  River stands still, letting the humans work through their turmoil. To remember that he’d kept them safe for all these months. That he was hard but fair. Trustworthy.

  Turning slowly, River squares off against where Coal, Tye, and I stand together, our weapons and magic at the ready.

  “Are the three of you hard of hearing or slow of mind?” River asks.

  Seriously? My brows rise.

  “Looks like River found not only a way back to consciousness, but also a new stick to shove up his ass,” Tye mutters, lowering himself to one knee as instructed. A moment later, Coal does the same, squeezing my arm to urge my obedience.

  My jaw tenses. With the amulet veil gone and memories returned, I’ve no intention of cowering before my mate as I did when I feigned being a student. I can’t. Lifting my chin, I meet River’s hard gray gaze. The wind has picked up, blowing ash into my eyes and whipping my hair across my face, but I don’t move to stop it. There’s a breathless tension in the courtyard as the kneeling humans watch our silent standoff.

  Strong eyes meeting mine, River’s shoulders spread with the powerful majesty of an immortal king. His beautiful face, heartbreakingly gray and still only moments ago, yields nothing. He isn’t asking for obedience. He is expecting it.

  A soft growl tingles the air, and it takes a moment for me to realize the warning tone isn’t coming from River but from Shade, kneeling beside the commander. The shifter’s nostrils flare in mirror of my own, the bruise I left on his jaw blossoming into a deep red-purple.

  Quieting Shade with a glance, River walks toward me until he stands less than a pace away, the entire courtyard silent as the male’s hard gray gaze grips my own. His fresh woodsy scent washes over me, nearly making me dizzy, but I refuse to yield. Not now. Not after all these months.

  “Leralynn.” River’s voice softens as he says my name. “Take a knee.”

  I lift my chin, the breeze catching my hair. “I won’t kneel before my mate.”

  Like a sparked brush fire, my words send a rush of whispers scurrying through the crowd, repeating and morphing as they jump between hundreds of roused humans.

  “She called him mate. The arena murderer is his mate.”

  “…never get justice…”

  “…what did you expect of them?”

  The wind prickles my skin, turning droplets of rain into shards.

  River’s face hardens more and more with each whispered denouncement, the mix of regret and resolve in his stormy eyes coalescing into a grand wall. When he speaks again, there is no more softness in his voice.

  “I’m not asking as your mate,” River says coolly, his voice loud enough to be heard across the Academy. “I’m ordering as your commander. Obey, or find yourself and your righteous indignation keeping each other company in a dungeon cell.”

  Despite already starting to kneel, I snap back upright at that turn of phrase. Not
just a command, but a bloody threat. The sudden rush of blood in my ears drowns out all thought. My lips pull away from my teeth, my canines flashing as another peal of thunder sounds overhead. Pounding against my ribs, my heart is so loud, I wonder how the whole courtyard doesn’t feel its fury-filled rhythm. “You wouldn’t.”

  River raises a brow. “Do you truly wish to discover the truth?” he asks steadily. Behind him, Shade shifts his legs, ready to rise and do River’s bidding. Wanting to. Shade, who had the gall to forbid me to go outside as if I were a trained pet, who is now not altogether upset to watch me get my comeuppance.

  My own males, my own mates, looking at me with full recognition—and no warmth, no kindness at all. Who want obedience more than they want me. Even with their memories gone, I never felt as far from them as I feel now.

  My throat closes, and suddenly, it’s a battle just to keep the stinging in my eyes from becoming a new spectacle for the courtyard. Averting my gaze, I lower myself to one knee beside the males, the slight tightening of River’s jaw the only indication that he noticed the change.

  Through the veil of stinging pain now gripping my soul, I watch River turn around to survey the kneeling—but now silent—courtyard. “You’ve no doubt marked by now that I—the man you believed to be the deputy headmaster of this Academy—am an immortal from Lunos, as are my four quint mates. My true name is River—”

  “River, King of Slait.” Owalin’s voice sounds from the mezzanine balcony once again, followed by a slow, mocking clapping that’s somehow amplified by the thunder instead of drowned out by it. His hood is thrown back now, and the effect is even more terrifying—silver-blond hair braided tight against his skull, his sharp, elegant face almost skeletal in the storm’s strange, vivid light. Even from here, his pale blue eyes shine with satisfaction and curiosity. “Well played, Your Majesty. I’d have pushed the knife deeper if I’d known the details of your heritage.”