by Isla Frost
“Yes, but once I persuaded the pair of embercats to attack it, the stoneboar didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.”
“You’re a genius.”
“A genius who would’ve been utterly powerless without you.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” I pulled her into a hug. “Lucky we make a great team, hey?”
She half sobbed and half laughed, and I squeezed her tighter.
“We’re in this together,” I reminded her gently. That was the promise we’d made to each other over and over again as we were growing up. “Always.”
Bryn chose that moment to join our conversation. Her short hair was mussed from sleep, her arms were crossed, and she was wearing a ferocious scowl.
“Together, you say? That begs the question of what on earth did I just miss out on and why the hell didn’t you bring me with you?”
It was clear from the way she shouted the last part that she wasn’t pleased about being left out.
Ameline hurried to explain. I chimed in on the parts she didn’t know about.
Bryn’s scowl stayed firmly in place.
“Problem?” I queried.
“I can’t believe you let me sleep through all the excitement.”
Um, excitement?
Our friend was officially bonkers. But I didn’t think now was a good time to point that out to her.
“It’s not like we had a choice,” I pointed out instead.
Griff set to preening the feathers I’d disarranged in our mad scramble to safety, and Bryn’s scowl deepened.
“Yeah well, you can’t blame me for being upset. Even small-and-porky got to come along.”
Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Ameline was practically swaying on her feet. I felt no fatigue. Not yet. Stolen energy was still coursing through my system, but I decided to put an end to this conversation anyway so that my friends, at least, could get some sleep.
“Fine,” I said. “I’m very sorry. The next time one of us gets kidnapped and the other is chosen to be carved up like a family roast and forced into an experimental ritual, we’ll do everything we can to drag you into the disaster with us.”
Bryn nodded as if this was a perfectly rational promise for me to make. “Good.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
I lay for a long time in the dark that wasn’t dark to my energy-augmented eyes, listening to my companions’ gentle snores. Wondering how I could protect myself and my friends.
Ameline and I had managed to outsmart Ellbereth and her minions this time. But what about the next? Or the time after that?
Sooner or later one of us was going to get killed.
And with Healer Invermoore on Team Ellbereth, a trip to the infirmary could prove just as dangerous as anything in the forest.
I wasn’t a tattletale by nature, but if there was ever a time to get the authorities involved, this was it. I resolved to speak with Cricklewood after weapons training. Of all the professors, he’d seemed most invested in my wildcard magic. Dunraven, Wilverness, and the other professors tolerated it. Grimwort would happily see me dead. Hence, Cricklewood.
The other thing I thought about as the long minutes ticked by was the magic that was at the root of my trouble. To be fair, it had also gotten me out of trouble tonight, along with Ameline’s quick thinking.
If our escape had taught me anything, it was that no one truly understood my magic. Including me.
I’d been told I had Malus magic, and I had swallowed that as fact. Even when experience suggested otherwise. But for all the similarities, my power was not the same as the Malus’s.
The Malus drew from all living things. Every bug, leaf, creature, or fungus. And it didn’t need to make them bleed first. Nor, I was beginning to suspect, did it have a problem with withdrawal like I did.
The Malus also had other abilities: taking over a creature’s life force inside its body to use as a puppet and projecting fear so potent it could drive people insane.
But according to our lessons and every account I’d heard, one thing the Malus could not do was utilize the magic of those it drained.
Tonight, thanks to Ameline, I had done just that.
Which meant, despite the assumptions and accusations flung about, my gift was uncharted territory.
Hell, maybe I could do something other than kill.
The only way I would find out was to practice, experiment, and hunt down the answers myself. The sooner the better if I wanted to protect my friends and survive long enough to learn what I could really do.
So I vowed to ignore the voices in my head, telling me what was and wasn’t possible, debating whether my power was evil or the key to victory, and the niggling fears that the Malus might somehow have a foothold in my mind or magic. I would shut them all out and begin practicing in earnest. Not just during Advanced Magic classes but before and after my other lessons too.
Then I would see what I could do about changing the world.
I was already dreading the withdrawals.
Weapons practice came and went. The stolen life force hadn’t fully depleted yet, so I had to hold back to avoid hurting my sparring partners. It was about as challenging as swatting a trapped fly.
When the other students left for the next class, Ameline, Bryn, and I remained behind. Hopefully Cricklewood could give us some sort of note to preclude us from Dunraven’s wrath at our delay. He hated students being late.
I might’ve come before weapons class except we all needed the extra sleep.
Cricklewood peered at us through narrowed eyes. “Did you have your brains eaten by worms and forget your way to class, or did you want something?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said. “Privately.”
He raised one scraggly white eyebrow and guided me to a small room tacked onto the outbuilding that stored the racks of special weapons.
I went in alone. If word got around that one of us had blabbed, I wanted the censure to fall on me.
Cricklewood followed me in and shut the door behind us. The room was small and cramped but surprisingly cozy. There were paintings on the walls, noncarnivorous plants in every available nook, and a desk piled with weapons in various states of repair instead of the usual papers. The chair Cricklewood seated himself in was plush and padded. The visitor’s chair, on the other hand, was hard and compact with a backrest that dug in at all the wrong places. Doubtless to discourage visitors from overstaying their welcome.
I took the hint and got straight to the point, recounting what had been going on and why I was here.
The professor’s wrinkles deepened as he listened, and he seemed to sag in his chair. When I was done, he rubbed his face with a hand as gnarled with age as any human’s.
“I’m going to explain the situation to you,” he said. “And you’re not going to like it.”
I waited.
“These are difficult times, and people are growing more difficult with them. Desperate even.”
His eyebrows bristled at me as if making sure I was paying attention. I was.
“Some walkers strongly believe in this academy initiative. Most do not. The believers are the minority, but the majority have thus far bowed to their wishes because to do otherwise would cause a great deal of political backlash. Still, after thirty-seven years without result, tolerance among the majority is wearing thin. The only thing that’s prevented the matter coming to a head before now is that the potential good of the academy initiative far outweighed the potential consequences.”
His rheumy blue eyes fixed on mine.
“Until you, Nova. Your gift.”
I swallowed, no longer sure I wanted to hear this. I’d assumed I was dealing with the professors and one fanatical student. What Cricklewood was insinuating was much larger and more complex.
He steepled his fingers on the desk as if collecting his thoughts.
“Your reaper magic is incredibly contentious. Some of those who support the academy initiative believe it might be wh
at we’ve been waiting for. Almost everyone else wants the risk neutralized.”
Have me killed, he meant. I was impressed the old coot could be so tactful when it suited him.
“It is not the professors at this academy deciding your fate. It’s the members of the council. Two weeks ago, they very reluctantly acceded to the believers’ wishes to wait and see how your gift develops. How you develop. But that ruling could be rescinded at any moment.”
I’d known some of that already—that the concession to let me live was contingent on results. But I hadn’t known those weighing that decision were a bunch of high-and-mighty walker council members I’d never so much as laid eyes on.
“To make matters worse,” Cricklewood was saying, “Ellbereth’s mother is the most influential council member alive today. It’s possible, though I don’t know this for sure and would deny ever saying so outside this room, that she is fully aware of what Ellbereth has been attempting to do. She could have even instructed her to do it. Certainly it wouldn’t be the first time a member of the council has used their connections to achieve ends with minimal political fallout.
“As a hollow secluded away at this academy, Ellbereth is far enough removed from her mother to keep Lady Neryndrith’s hands appearing clean, and Ellbereth’s hollow status means she is protected from serious repercussions for all but the worst of offenses.”
He didn’t say it, but I understood taking a human life was not even close to being considered as the worst of offenses.
“So I could try talking to her. But it’s your word against hers. And unfortunately for you, hers holds more weight with the people deciding your fate.”
I slumped down in the hard seat. Fabulous. I’d had a feeling that was where the conversation was going.
“I don’t give a crap about politics,” Cricklewood said. “But my hands are effectively tied in this because if I’m seen to aid you against a councilwoman’s daughter without ironclad evidence of wrongdoing, the political uproar will harm rather than help you.”
For a moment, just a moment, he looked truly apologetic.
I hadn’t known the old professor could make that expression, let alone toward a student, and the vulnerability made me ask, “Are you a… believer?”
“More like an optimistic old fool.” He rubbed his face again. “My partner was a hollow on the frontline back on our world, and the only reason I’ve bothered to outlive him for a hundred bleak and bitter years is because I want to see this war ended before I die. Jhaeros gave up his life for the cause, so I want to see it finished.”
He frowned faintly at me.
“You give me hope that might still happen. Supposing you find a way of dealing with the more immediate problem.”
In an eye blink, all trace of vulnerability vanished—so completely I would’ve thought I’d imagined it had it not been for the information he’d just shared.
The familiar cranky professor was back.
“And for the love of all that’s good in the worlds,” he growled, “don’t kill Ellbereth. Otherwise, all hell will break loose.”
He scowled at a spot above my head, making me curious as to his thoughts. “Did I use that idiom right?”
Oh. “Yes.”
“Great. Now get your endangered backside out of my office before people start to wonder what we’re talking about.”
“Yes, sir.” I pushed myself off the uncomfortable chair with a touch of relief, then paused. “Thank you.”
Cricklewood nodded stiffly, and I turned for the door.
“By the way,” he said, “that sword I made sure you were paired with, it cuts through magic. Might be useful.”
I was still digesting that when the withdrawal hit me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Six hours into my withdrawal, carrying myself and my sword to the bathroom felt like the hardest thing I’d ever done. I very nearly gave up halfway. But after all the sweating and vomiting, I really wanted a shower.
I also wanted to live to enjoy it.
So I pressed on.
Ameline and Bryn accompanied me. I felt bad about that, but anytime one of us left our dorm room, we were practically joined at the hip.
Ameline did offer to carry Gus on my behalf. But Gus told me he would accept no other wielder now. I suspected he was just enjoying watching me struggle, but then I also suspected that if Ellbereth tried again and the sword wasn’t already in my hands, he wouldn’t do me much good.
I still couldn’t believe that it had been Cricklewood who’d made sure I’d picked this particular sword. Perhaps Gus’s claim that he’d been asleep was true.
When I reached the familiar bathroom tiles, I could’ve wept. I heroically resisted the urge to crawl, and careful to avoid dragging the tip of my heavy sword along those tiles, I made it at last into the shower stall.
Taking my clothes off presented another hurdle of monumental proportions, but I managed that too and turned on the taps.
The water was hot and cleansing and felt like magic.
I closed my eyes and reveled in it. The rivulets sluicing over my skin, washing away the sweat and other odors I didn’t want to think about. The warmth soothing my tight and knotted muscles. And the blissful convenience of a nearby vomit receptacle if my stomach objected to this strenuous exercise.
I was just beginning to feel like life might be worth living when something tried to take it from me.
One moment I was standing there, letting the grime and aches drain away. The next, the stream of water jerked aside and some sort of metal collar snapped around my neck.
Too tight. I clawed uselessly at the unyielding garrote, unable to breathe. Some part of my brain registered it was the shower itself strangling me—the long brass arm that carried water up to the showerhead had leaped from its moorings on the wall and wrapped itself around my neck before becoming rigid brass again.
My frantic fingers scored my own flesh but did nothing to the pipe. And in my panic, I was wasting precious seconds of oxygen. I pounded my fist against the side of the stall.
“Nova?” Came Ameline’s hesitant voice. “Are you all right?”
But of course I couldn’t answer.
My desperate, probably bulging eyes landed on Gus. The sword that could cut through magic, Cricklewood had said. I dove for it, but though most of the shower pipe had detached from the wall, the base was still secure and my metal collar pulled me up short.
If I’d had the breath to curse, I would’ve given Bryn a run for her money. Instead, I yanked at my leash, stretched my bare foot toward my sword, dragged it closer with my toes, and tried again.
There! My fingers wrapped around Gus’s hilt, and I applied the last of the strength in my oxygen-depleted limbs to the awkward task of slashing at the tube of metal around my neck.
Somehow I managed to slice through the garrote without decapitating myself, and I collapsed to the floor in relief.
“Nova?” Ameline’s voice was fraught with concern. “Answer me now or we’re breaking down the door.”
“Don’t,” I managed to say through a throat that ached with every blessed breath. I was lying against the tiles, naked and gasping, and the unwelcome puzzle pieces were falling into place.
By thwarting Ellbereth and her minions’ plan to drain me of my magic last night, I’d “forced” them to more extreme measures.
Ameline and I had defied the odds, my reaper gift giving me powers they’d been unable to fight in that underground chamber. Powers that had turned the tables and made them vulnerable, even with their numbers advantage.
From their perspective, it was easy to see how they’d conclude it was too difficult, too dangerous to complete the complex and lengthy magic-stripping ritual on me.
Killing me was a far simpler task.
After all, when not high on stolen life force, I was as helpless against them as a sitting duck.
Gus snorted in my mind. A sitting duck with a magnificent sword maybe.
Chapter Twe
nty-Seven
I ended up recovering from withdrawal and the murder attempt just in time for the next “trust-building” trial. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
If the professors wanted the students at the academy to learn to work as a trusting, cohesive unit, they really ought to start with the basics. Like prohibiting us from killing each other, for example.
Theus and Lirielle were standing outside our dorm room when Ameline, Bryn, and I emerged.
Theus looked us over with concern. “We heard about your… run-in with Ellbereth and thought you could use an escort to the arena. In case she hasn’t given up yet.”
My hand reflexively rose to my neck, the livid bruising mostly hidden by my shirt collar. She absolutely hadn’t given up yet.
“Heard from who?” I asked.
Theus glanced down the empty passageway. “A certain professor.”
Cricklewood then.
“Oh. Well, thanks.”
A short, uneventful walk had us joining the other students assembled around the lake, which was in the process of draining. Ellbereth stared impassively at our arrival. If she was surprised to see me alive, I couldn’t read it on her elegant face.
It was a face, I thought, that would look better with a broken nose. But that would only worsen the situation, so I tried for an equally impassive expression and was grateful for the comforting and restraining presence of my four companions.
Now we just had to get through this next arena challenge without sustaining an injury that might force us to the infirmary.
The lake finished draining, and Dunraven cleared his throat. “We’ll be dividing you into groups of five.”
The assembled professors walked among us to do just that, and I groaned inwardly when one of the conceited jerks from the first trial was assigned to mine. From his expression, tall, bright, and handsome number one hadn’t forgiven me for upstaging him. But at least Lirielle was in my group too.
When everyone had been assigned a team, Dunraven said, “The setup is this: you’re in the final throes of a long and difficult battle. A battle that you have, for all intents and purposes, lost.”