“You son of a bitch!” Reü lunges toward Vilder but is held in place by invisible threads. “Let me go!” He fixes Vilder with a furious stare.
Vilder shrugs. “Don’t look at me.”
Reü’s gaze snaps to Seniia, who’s lazily stroking her serpent. She raises her eyebrows. “What?”
“I said let. Me. Go.” The words are barely audible between his clenched teeth.
She tilts her head. “Do you promise to treat Laïna with respect?”
He stares at her for a long time, but her gaze never wavers. “Sure,” he says. He looks away, and then Seniia must release him, because he takes a couple steps back.
“If he causes any more trouble, let us know,” she says, then turns to Vilder. “Let’s go.”
My mouth drops open as another dagger flies in Vilder’s direction, but Vilder grabs it out of the air is if he were thrown a ball.
“For fuck’s sake, M’Garan. With no magic to speak of, at least learn to handle a dagger properly, will you?” He flicks his wrist, sending the dagger back to where it came from, pinning Reü’s tunic to the wall.
I place a hand on Vilder’s arm. “Hey, it’s fine. Be kind.” I glance toward Reü, his cheeks red with embarrassment. I think back to how his own uncle treated him. No one, regardless of their social standing or background, deserves such cruelty. “You never know if there’s more to the story than we see on the surface.”
Surprise crosses Vilder’s face, but he backs down. “She may defend you, M’Garan, but my patience with you is running low.”
Reü opens his mouth to say something, then snaps it shut as Vilder stalks over to where he stands. Vilder removes the dagger from the wall and, leaning over Reü, sheathes both of Reu’s daggers back into their places at his belt. “Do. Not. Push. It.”
“Vilder!” I chide, pulling at his sleeve to get him away from Reü. “That was excessive.”
“What?” He looks at me. “He threw a fucking dagger at me. Twice.”
“Fair point,” I say, pushing him in front of me. A glance over my shoulder tells me Reü is ready to kill someone.
“Surely you’ve both made yourselves clear by now. I’ll be fine.”
“And—” Seniia begins.
“I promise to let you know if anything happens,” I finish for her.
Seniia gives me a hug, and Vilder squeezes my shoulder. “Later, L.”
I stare at their backs as they disappear down the hallway, then turn toward Reü. “Sorry,” I say. He may be an ass, but he didn’t deserve that.
“You’re lucky to have such powerful friends,” he mutters. Pushing open the ballroom doors, he gestures for me to follow. “Come on, let’s get this dance lesson over with.”
chapter eighteen
MY LIFE AT THE ARC is now a structured rhythm of activity—a welcome change from the uncertainty I once knew—and the weeks melt into a blur of disciplined routine. My days begin before sunrise with sparring practice against Vilder. We then join Seniia for a shared breakfast before I dedicate myself to dance lessons under the expert tutelage of Reü, continuing until lunchtime. In the afternoons, I attend the rigorous sparring sessions of the Accepted, while evenings are spent with Seniia, immersing myself in the intricate world of herbs and the art of potion-making. The predictable schedule has brought a sense of comfort and purpose to my days at the Arc, a stark contrast to my life in Bronich.
“Sorry,” I mutter as I step on Reü’s toes for what must be the hundredth time this morning. He brushes off my apology. I meet his teal-blue eyes as he spins me around, and a blush creeps into my cheeks, deepening when I notice his questioning look at my flustered state. If only he knew.
“You’re usually better than this,” he remarks. His forced politeness is a tight mask, barely concealing the underlying tension between us. At least he tries. “Did something happen?”
“It’s nothing,” I say. “Poor sleep, that’s all.” Forcing my lips into what I hope is a convincing smile, I let him spin me another time. He’s right: Iambetter than this. A lot better. The intricate Rean ballroom choreography has come easy to me, and I’ve begun to cherish my daily dancing lessons with Reü. Although he may be barely tolerable, the music is anything but. Growing up in Bronich, I never experienced music. Like everything else that could create any sort of pleasure, it was forbidden. Now the beautiful tones conjured from invisible strings of elen—wind magic made audible, Vilder once told me—act like a drug, their captivating allure impossible to resist.
The music swells, strings of elen vibrating in the air, and our bodies once again twist and turn in perfect synchronization as we glide across the floor. We’ve been dancing together for thirty-three days straight—three weeks—our only day off every week being Eleventh Day. And our consistent practice has paid off. Except for today.
“Sorry,” I mumble as I commit yet another beginner’s mistake. I know how much he resents giving up his study time for these lessons, so I should at least give him the courtesy of paying attention, but today my mind is anywhere but on the dance.
I didn’t lie to him. Not exactly. My sleepwasbad. Well, “bad” may be the wrong word. “Distracting” is more like it.
For the past week, my vivid dreams of Aster have only gotten more intense. He won’t leave me alone, or perhaps I won’t let him go. The dreams are both a sanctuary and a curse—a sanctuary because nowhere else feels as real, yet a curse because waking means facing the loss of something I can never have.
