Of course Zoya would see the positive here. Kamine wished she could see it the same way. Instead, she expected to leave the session with tears streaking her face as she limped through the halls.
Janina jumped down from her spot, threw the rock outside the door, and waited. Within seconds, the rock came back like a boomerang. “It’s better than what we’ve tried.”
“Also, just think. The others are going to be so jealous that you get extra time with him. That alone should feel satisfying. I know Roz would beg on her knees for it.”
Kamine turned to her side, looking up at the both of them. “I guess you’re right.”
Janina stretched her back. “Speaking of Roz, I should head back to my room. She’ll get pissed if I disturb her beauty sleep, and I don’t want to wake up tomorrow buried in rocks.”
Zoya raised her brows. “Did she threaten to do that?”
“No, but her eyes tell all.”
“I fucking hate this place,” Kamine admitted.
“Well, we’re stuck, so let’s make the best of it.”
Janina nodded at Zoya’s words. “Who knows, after all the training with Professor Grimot, you might even be the one to find the Heart.”
Kamine gasped dramatically. “Janina, thinking of the possibility of someone else getting the Heart? You must have hit your head.”
“It might be possible,” Janina started, “only if I were dead before I could get there first.”
Seven
Grimot walked into the magic classroom as Kamine was bent over, stretching. Her hands touched the ground easily from the looks of it, her palms flat on the surface. She didn’t seem to hear him come in.
It was strange to be in this classroom again, now as a professor. He loved being a student, and showing off skills to the others. He and Kestra would also fuck in here often, the large empty room providing a pleasant echo chamber for their moans. It was a room that had boosted his ego those years ago, but now it just looked sad and lonely. Even the glittering chandelier that hung high up in the vaulted ceiling—a hazard if he were honest, but a thought he kept to himself—couldn’t elevate his perception of the room again.
He cleared his throat, and Kamine whipped up from her position. Her glasses slipped down her nose, and she adjusted them as her face turned a slight tinge of red, likely more out of the sudden redistribution of her blood flow than embarrassment.
“Stand over there,” he commanded, pointing to the center of the room.
“Good morning to you, too,” she mumbled, but did as she was told.
Her curly hair was pulled back, but wisps of it sprung out, and he could practically see the nerves on her face. The way she bit her bottom lip and furrowed her brows. The way she kept fidgeting with whatever was hidden on her wrist, or her glasses, as if she prepared for them to fly off her face any moment.
He came towards her with a rock in his hand. She tensed, and healmostfelt guilty for making her so scared of him—for having her think that his presence meant harm. Then, he remembered that the Undertaking was a brutal bitch, and that boulders raining from the sky would be destroying her village without any care for her feelings.
Plus, his life, too, was on the line. Being a jerk was warranted, in his opinion.
He stood a few feet away from her, close enough to touch her if he outstretched his arms, but he kept his hands to himself. Her eyes were on the rock. Either she was trying to will it to move, or she was avoiding eye contact with him.
He bent down and placed the rock in front of her feet.
“First lesson,” he said. “Instead of stopping a rock in midair, I want you to lift the rock into your hands.” Satisfied with himself, he took a seat at the far end of the room and picked up the book he brought with him.
“That’s it?” she asked in disbelief. “No words of advice?”
He ignored her. The more time they spoke, the less time she spent practicing. Also, he found that he liked riling her up.
She cracked her neck, the loud pops traveling to his ears.
He didn’t watch her, but the shadows on the wall revealed that she moved her hands. It was like she hoped to create a gust of wind strong enough to lift the rock. She made circles over, andover again, but nothing happened. Of course it didn’t. Shortly after, he could hear her pacing, like she was staring down a frightened animal.
Her frustration grew as she swore under her breath, her mouth absolutely filthy. He hated that he liked how it sounded. The words were enunciated, the exasperation at herself echoing off each wall, each reverberation a sound of defeat. He could tell this wasn't her first time attempting to bring her powers out, and failing. She was well versed in disappointment.
He still wouldn’t give her the relief of stepping in. Not yet. She needed to be reminded of exactly what she thought would work, so she knew exactly what she did wrong. At this moment in time, she was a failure—one who still had to prove herself. But if she could fix this, then maybe he, too, wouldn’t be a failure in the eyes of the Gods anymore, and he could come out of this with his limbs still made of flesh and bone.
