“How do you know it’s unforgivable? He might surprise you, Ti.”
“I know, because if he did it to me, I would do anything I could to make sure he suffered.” He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “And still, even if I could take it back, I wouldn’t. What kind of brother does that make me?”
My heart aches for him, and I reach for his hand, holding tight. I hope one day I’ll get to meet his brother. I’ll tell him exactly how much Tiernon loves him.
IWAS WARNEDNyrant would be unhappy I missed training.
At the time, it was low on my list of priorities, since I was relatively sure I was going to die.
I’m regretting that now as he leans close, his power pressing down on me. Any other time I would be shaking, desperately intimidated by the threat of that power. Clearly, I’ve been spending too much time with Rorrik if Nyrant no longer scares me.
“Two days,” he grits out. “You’re lucky the novices are solely under my domain. If you were still a gladian, you’d be dead for this. Sprints,” he orders. “I’ll tell you when you can stop.”
Since sprints are likely the reason I’ve built what little stamina I have, I nod, turning to go without a word. I don’t mind sprints. What I do mind is the cold look Leon gives me when I meet his eyes.
“I heard what happened last night,” he says as I take my place at the wall. The others are already sorting themselves into groups. Poor Etaina is all alone, staring glumly at her knife. She’s tall and long-limbed with dusky bronze skin and a wide, engaging smile. I haven’t talked to her much, but I know we both have one thing in common.
Out of all the novices in this room, we’re the lowest on the power scale. Although even Etaina’s bronze sigil is longer than mine by almost half an inch on either side. Her sigil glows as I watch, and she uses tiny bursts of her power to push her knife across the floor.
Across the room, Calena is working with a group of silver sigilmarked. Maeva walks past, still ignoring me, and Leon raises his eyebrow as Albion nods to both of us.
“I failed,” I say, choosing not to address the Maeva situation. “Rorrik made me turn the knife on myself.”
“That explains the limp. It also explains why I attempted to leave my rooms last night only to continually become befuddled and forget where I was going the moment I stepped into the corridor.” His voice is pure ice.
I wince. When I asked Deitra for a distraction, that wasn’t exactly what I meant. I meet Leon’s eyes. “I wasn’t going to let you throw your life away.”
“So you tried to throw your own away.”
“And it didn’t work. Because Rorrik’s playing some game with his brother. If you’d attempted the same thing, you would have died.”
Leon sets his jaw, but he knows I’m right.
“Your brothers?”
“I don’t know. Rorrik says Bran won’t kill them. He still needs me. But …”
His expression softens. “I know.”
“You should be sprinting, novice,” Nyrant shouts, and Leon gives him an unfriendly look but picks up my shield, holding it out.
I don’t take it. “Nyrant didn’t say I had to carry a parma.”
He gives me a sharp smile. “Then it’s a good thing I’m here to oversee your training, isn’t it?”
Grumbling, I take the shield and begin my sprints.
Nyrant watches me the entire time, refusing to allow me to join the others.
A few minutes before training is due to end, Jorah slips through one of the side doors in the training hall. I only see him because I’m about to sprint down that side of the hall—although I’m so tired, my sprint has become a limping jog.
His wide eyes find mine, but for once I can’t read his expression. When Nyrant finally ends training, and I switch to a walk, Jorah trots up to me.
“Your face is very red.”
I almost smile. Jorah’s own cheeks pinken and he looks at the floor. “Sorry. I got your note. And the weapons. And I asked Micah. He said you weren’t lying. He said he’s going to train me.” His eyes meet mine as we turn and continue walking. At the other end of the hall, Leon lifts a hand as he leaves.
Jorah steps back into my view. “Why did you do that, Arvelle? Was it because you wanted me to forgive you?”
