I was tempted to offer her my blemish camouflage makeup to cover them up, but I resisted the temptation.
Those weren't pimples, those were marks of the battle she'd won, and she should wear them with pride rather than try to hide them just because they evoked murderous urges in me.
She was curled in one of the armchairs, a manual propped on her knees, with Alar sitting beside her on the armrest, reading it with her. The truth was that she looked better than she had in a while despite the bruises. She was less gaunt, and her skin had regained the pretty peach color I had always been envious of.
If I didn't know better, I would have thought that this flat had some healing magic like Kailin had suggested.
Maybe it did?
Or was the magic having her friends around her and feeling safe for the first time in weeks?
"This food is terrible." Morek put the lid back on the container he'd pulled out of the fridge.
He was exaggerating. It wasn't that bad. The guards had delivered lunch from the main kitchen a couple of hours ago. Cold sandwiches, some kind of vegetable soup that had congealed into an unappetizing mass, and fruit that was slightly past its prime, which made me wonder if this was how the officers ate. If so, the first years were lucky to have Darma as a cook.
I missed her.
Were we ever going back to our dormitories?
"It's not that bad," I said.
"It's bland." He pushed the tray away. "No seasoning, no flavor. I could do better with my eyes closed."
"Then do better," I said.
"Maybe I will." He stood, stretching his impressive frame. "There are spices in the cabinet and fresh vegetables in the cold closet. Give me an hour, and I'll make something that actually tastes good."
I wondered who had stocked the kitchen and cleaned the flat for us. According to Ravel, it had never been used because the Citadel hadn't hosted any dignitaries in recent memory.
"You're just looking for an excuse not to study," I murmured and returned to my manual.
"That's true," Morek said. "I'd rather cook than stare at these boring manuals."
"The final exams are in a week, Morek." Kailin looked up from her book. "You can't keep postponing your studies when we are so close to the finish line."
"I know, I know." He returned the container to the cold closet. "But I can only read about weather patterns and wind currents for so long before my brain starts leaking out of my ears."
"That explains so much," Codric muttered without looking up from his book.
Morek grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him. Codric caught it without even lifting his head, which was annoyingly impressive.
I closed my book and set it aside. "We should study together. Form a circle, quiz each other. It'll help everyone, but especially you." I pointed at Morek. "You learn better by talking through things than by reading."
He looked at me as if I were spouting nonsense. "I do?"
"Definitely. You zone out during lectures, but when we talk about tactics in groups, you're sharp as a blade."
The compliment brought a smile to Morek's face. "Sharp as a blade. I like it. I wonder why, though. Lectures are so boring that I can't keep my eyes open, but the topics come alive when we discuss them later."
"Whatever works for you. You should play to your strengths, right?" I moved to the dining table that was more or less the center of the room and gestured for the others to join me. "Come on. Everybody. Circle up."
"Why bother?" Morek didn't move from his spot. "They're going to let us pass anyway. We're the saviors of Aurorys. They can't let us fail. We need to become riders to fulfill the prophecy."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room.
He wasn't wrong. Ravel had practically said as much this morning—that he and Saphir would be testing us personally, and that we were basically ready. The implication had been clear. Our passage to the Day of Volition was guaranteed, regardless of how we performed on the exams.
Kailin shook her head. "That might be true. But don't you want to know that you earned it? That you passed because you were good enough, not because you were given special treatment?"
