Angrily, he clenched his fist and tried to dispel such tempting thoughts.
Slow and easy, dawn crept along the skyline. The cool autumn breeze that brushed him offered a momentary soothing relief from his throbbing headache. He’d let his opponent at the docks gain a little too much ground—almost lost in the process. Now here he was, broken and in need of patching up. He considered going to his rooms, locking himself away to let his body heal on its own, but there was too much to be done.A whole lesson he’d mapped out the last two days to help prepare students for the Solstice Ball which would be officially announced at lunch.
Find Sidonia. Prep the training wing. Avoid Seren. He ran through the mental list in his head, again and again until the words meshed together and the only thing left was Seren’s name. That sharp pain echoed across his abdomen—the other fighter had truly done a number on his kidney. Warm breath hissed between his clenched teeth with every step up to the Tower and each step beyond until he was pounding on Sidonia’s door.
Soft stirring inside, and the solid oak came rushing open. The headmistress stood in burnished gold robes with an artfully twisted head wrap to match. Concern flooded her face at the sight of him clutching his side and leaning heavily into the doorframe. His forehead pressed against his propped arm.
“Icarus, what in the great Goddess’s name? It’s hardly dawn.” Her mouth twisted, settling into a firm line. “Don’t tell me you were at the docks all night again.”
“Would you like me to lie?” The answer fought through his tightened jaw as another stab of searing pain washed through him.
With a familiar motherly sigh, she gestured him into her chambers. The fire crackled low, before it set a table and two chairs. “Sit down, let me look at you.” Her fingertips lightly danced over the injured spots, that ancient blood magic sensing every hurt as if it were her own. She let out a sharp hiss. “By the gods. How are you still on your feet? How many did you fight?”
Icarus shifted back, reclining his head. “At once or grand total?” He’d meant it to sound light and joking but Sidonia’s glare grew unsettling.
“You’re going to get hurt. Worse than this. That Chester who runs the rings is dangerous. He doesn’t care about the fighters. He cares about the money. He would sell the skin off your back if he saw profit in it. I have half a mind to march down there this instant and put a stop to this. That man will push you to your limits, until you break, and then he’ll move on to the next fighter too blinded by pent-up rage to care about their own well-being.”
“I have it under control.” Icarus didn’t believe the words that spilled out of his mouth, but what else could he offer to appease her?
“You say that every time, but then you limp back here worse than before. Sometimes I think you want that. You want to get hurt. Like you’re just waiting for one of those brutes to finish you off.”
To that, Icarus said nothing. He shifted again, his body begging for the relief only her blood magic could give. “Are you going to heal me or will I need to make a trip to South Silden and grovel to the blood witches there?”
The headmistress sucked in a frustrated breath, dropping onto one knee beside him so she could glare directly into his eyes. “Icarus Evander Atwood, I have known you since you were five years old. I’ve known you to be kind. I’ve known you to be brave. I’ve even known you to be stubborn and sullen, but I’ve never known you to be stupid. If your plan is to get yourself killed fighting down there, then as your headmistress I forbid—”
He groaned, attempting to sit straighter in the hard-backed chair. “I assure you it is not, Sidonia, now please . . .”
His mind felt heavy now. Weary. Perhaps itwasthe plan, and he just hadn’t realized it yet. Maybe deep down he was waiting for one of the fighters to hit him so hard he didn’t get back up. But he was yet to meet his match, let alone his superior, in the ring. “I just do it to release what builds in me and to draw… inspiration.”
Sidonia scoffed. “Inspiration? Are you writing a book on idiotic things wizards do in their spare time?”
Icarus managed a laugh, though his ribs ached from it and the sound morphed into a fitful cough that brought blood to his lips. Perhaps fighting two at oncehadn’tbeen the best idea. Sidonia frowned and let her hands hover above his torso again where her cold magenta magic seeped into him, healing what was broken.
“No book,” he said, now that he could speak without pain raking down his flank. “A professor should look for inspiration everywhere to keep students on their toes.”
Sidonia’s frown returned, settling deep into the skin around her mouth. “I hope that does not mean what it sounds like.”
“It might. Don’t tell me you disagree. You care about these students more than anyone does. If you are really anticipating an attack by these rogue wizards at the solstice, don’t you think they deserve to know how to defend themselves?”
Her magenta eyes flashed. “Of course I do. But the treaty we signed forbade classes for Calami witches that involved hand-to-hand combat. It’s why more than half of our students do not even realize the training wing exists. You know this, Icarus, you were there in the capitol when it was written and signed.”
The cloudy memory danced out of the dark shadows where it lived with so many others.That cold day. The world seemed to be painted in shades of sludgy gray. What should have been excitement at the prospect of visiting the royal palace had been drowned beneath his grief as he followed his uncle up the steps, Calder trailing behind them, eyes still puffy and red from two nights spent sobbing for their lost family.
A tender ache gripped him, but he shoved it back. “That was written because they don’t want these young women to be able to defend themselves if they come for their magic, which was promised to be the first thing they would take if Calami Tower tried to rise again—they will purge the school. Burn away every drop of witching from their veins. How would they fight then, Sidonia?”
A shadow fell over the headmistress’s face. Something darker than he’d ever seen. “How, indeed?” she whispered.
A lingering chill crept through his body as her answer washed through him. Sidonia Sinclair was the bravest woman he knew, and if she was worried, then they all should be.
Icarus sent a message to each student in his morning class with strict directions to the training wing. The large room was cold and dark when he arrived. A flick of his wrist had the drapes of the tall windows drawn back and a fire roaring in the hearth. Despite his weekly visits here, dust still lingered finely in the air. A sense of disuse clung to the equipment that lined the walls. As an added precaution to ensure his first lesson didn’t go horribly wrong, he let his stormy blue magic expand out where it crept up the walls to form a cushioning spell around them.
Once finished, he sat in a lone chair, meticulously centered at the head of the room, and waited for his class to arrive. It came as no surprise when the first to show was none other than Roxanne Laurier, trailed by Lily Sinclair who followed close enough that their arms brushed together as they walked in. Soon, the rest of the class filed inside, eyes full of confusion and uncertainty at the magic that pulsed over the walls in a room they’d likely never visited before.
“I love what you’ve done with the place, professor,” Ariminta Kingston purred, her voice curling vivaciously as she batted her wide-set eyes his way. He knew thatshewas aware of the room's existence as she made it a habit to stop by and do her morning stretches while he trained.
Arabella Marudas arrived last, tired and slightly frazzled. He tried not to wonder if it had anything to do with her sister before clearing his throat in a way that brought instant silence to the chattering young witches.
“Obviously, you’ve all noted the change in scenery for the day.”
