“That woman is Ayla Silverspun,” Malak says. “She’s Asha’s mother and the head of the Academy.”
As if she heard him, Ayla looks away from her students to send a cold glance in our direction.
The look of delight that passes across her face when she sees Skirra is chilling.
She quickly focuses back on her students, her fingers tapping her thigh as if she’s counting beats before she screams again, “Heat!”
At her command, each of the students wrenches their lump of metal, still gripped in their tongs, off their anvil to ram it into the fire and hold it there.
They’re all taking deep breaths and I’m certain they’re making the most of the reprieve.
“Hold!” Ayla shouts, casting another delighted smile from Skirra to Malak. She tips her chin at him, her concentration on her students seeming unbroken. “Hold… hold… hold…”
Some of the students’ arms are shaking, sweat pouring down their brows. Even from this distance, I can feel the heat beating up from the coals.
The air feels thick with tension as Ayla paces in our direction, a move seemed deliberately designed to get a better look at us, before she turns sharply back to follow the next row of students, prowling between them, her eyes narrowed at each one as she passes.
Her deepening scowl lifts when she reaches the male student in the back row at the end nearest to us. She stops there, her head tilted, peering into the flames.
The fiery hue glowing from his forge is darker than the others and casts blood-red light up over her face.
“Well done, Landon,” she says to that student. “Your father would be proud.”
Landon is leaner than the other men and not as tall, but his muscles are far more honed. His hair is a copper color.
Ayla’s expression quickly hardens before she steps away. “Do not fail him.”
We’ve reached the back of the group now and the air is so thick with honey that it’s difficult to breathe and the hum of energy buzzes in my ears.
Malak leans toward me. “Landon doesn’t know it yet, but his father is dead,” he whispers. “You killed him.”
My eyes snap to Malak’s.
He must be talking about Deron, the Blacksmith with the copper beard, which he confirms as he continues speaking.
“Deron Copperstream was the favored brother of Cohen Copperstream, who is the leader of their house.” Malak inclines his head. “But of course, neither Landon nor Cohen will ever know it was you who killed Deron.”
He gives me a slow smile. “Unless I choose to tell them.”
Chapter 24
Malak’s threat hangs in the air as he glides toward the gate.
He seems confident now that we won’t try anything.
The wall soars up beside us, a towering structure.
Up on the ramparts, men and women in gleaming armor stand guard, the metallic color and sheen of their hair indicating that they’re Blacksmiths.
The portcullis is already open and it only takes us moments to pass through the first gate, cross the width of the large opening beneath the wall, and step into the city beyond it.
A wide, cobbled path stretches ahead of us while buildings of all shapes and sizes rise up on either side of the walkway.
The hum of energy we leave behind is replaced with the drone of sound from within the city. Voices. Machines. Footfalls.
It’s a wash of noises that I’m not used to and I find my ears buzzing.
Or maybe that’s thirst and exhaustion. Either way, it’s unpleasant.
