“David,” he calls to someone in the crowd.
A male shoulders through the group. He’s tall and lean with dark hair and a nose that looks like it’s been broken a time or two. I really hope Mick isn’t expecting me to physically fight this guy. His reach alone would make it hard to evade him.
“This is Briar. She’s new to Frostburn, and I’d like to see if she really deserves to be here.” I hate that he’s speaking aboutme as if I’m not present. You’d think I’d get over the blatant dismissal, but it’s always hard to ignore.
David pushes his fist against the palm of his other hand. I don’t know if it’s my imagination working overtime or not, but I swear I hear his knuckles pop. “Surrender or death?” he questions as if he already knows it will be one or the other in his favor.
“Don’t break her yet, she’s still new.” Mick grins before turning his attention back to me.
“Is this my assessment? If I don’t surrender, will this be enough testing for today?” I might go insane if I’m vetted against half the population of an institute again.
“I don’t know if I’m impressed with your confidence or pissed that you have the nerve to question me.” Mick’s tone is hard, proving it would have been smarter to keep my mouth shut. He tips his head to the right, sending a signal to David, who steps forward and throws out his arm without any further prompting.
A stream of freezing water jets from his hand, heading straight for me. I take a step back on instinct, but the frozen stream melts just before reaching me, splashing into a useless puddle at my feet.
The entire arena is silent, making the whooshing in my ears seem loud in comparison. I don’t look around to see all the eyes on me, but I don’t need to. I can feel them just as easily as I can feel my heart racing in my chest. I hate everything about this, hate feeling like a spectacle.
Anger fills all the emptiness inside me where only fear and sadness lived before. A deep hunger like nothing I’ve ever experienced hollows out my bones, demanding to be sated as rage boils within me. I’m tired of being used, tired of taking everything they throw at me, and tired of being their victim.
David flicks his arm again and sends another torrent of ice straight for me. The hollowness inside me lashes out like aphysical thing, reaching for the icy magic. Fear grips my chest at the first chilly brush, and the emptiness snaps back inside me, making my bones ache.
The male’s features shift as his confidence erodes. There’s no doubt he sensed something changed just as I did, and it scared both of us. “Don’t,” I hiss out in warning, my breath foggy as if the tiny bit of cold magic I touched needs a path to escape.
The puddle of water around my feet is even larger, but what surprises me are the ice crystals forming near the toes of my boots, spreading toward David, and not from him. The male tries to keep me in his sights while simultaneously looking over at Mick for direction.
It’s clear I shocked him, but if he’s shocked, I’m fucking astonished. I can’t even wrap my head around what I think just happened, or if I would be able to do it again if I tried.
Mick’s lips are set in a hard line. I don’t know him, but I can guess the expression isn’t a happy one. “You just get more and more interesting,” he mutters under his breath, yet the room is so quiet I have little doubt many of the onlookers heard him just fine.
“Not by choice,” I admit, unsure if this new development is going to get me put down. I’m already second-guessing what really happened. Maybe it was a fluke. I don’t know which is worse—realizing I may be capable of more and having to deal with the consequences, or coming to terms with the fact that I’m still the same punching bag I’ve always been.
Panic makes my palms feel damp, but I don’t dare show any signs of fear now, not with everyone watching.
The door to the arena swings open, and a new group walks in. They quickly realize that something is off and form a small, tight group. I use the distraction to step back in an effort to blend in with the others, but nobody seems to want to get close to me. Everyone I get near shifts away as if they know somethingstrange just happened. I wish I knew what they saw and felt. Oshea is the only one to stand her ground, even though she’s watching me out of the corner of her eye like I might attack at any moment.
“Everyone needs to get back to work,” Mick bellows, leveling the entire field with a hard stare. The new group, who I’m guessing are the elites, are slow to break apart, and they move like a unit, heading to the far side of the sand while staying clear of the barriers that would block me from their sight.
Several glances get thrown my way, but I pretend to ignore them. “What are we supposed to be doing?” I ask Oshea under my breath.
“Um…” She looks around as if she’s not sure if she should answer me. “We usually just practice with magic for the first half then move on to hand-to-hand.”
I feel kind of bad for making her uncomfortable, so I give her a little space. Hell, I’m not sure if I want to be around myself right now, so I get it.
Slowly, the volume in the room builds until I can’t pick out individual words or phrases spoken across the room. Just as I start to relax, Mick cuts a path through the unfortunate souls who couldn’t get away from me, giving them an excuse to put additional distance between us. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he accuses.
At least I don’t have to worry about the others overhearing him now. I’m not sure how to respond, so I don’t say anything. If I admit that was the first time I was able to touch someone’s magic—if that’s what I really did—then it could be worse than pretending I was hiding the ability to do so.
“I’m having a very hard time understanding why Syrinx would let you go.”
I could tell him she probably doubted I would ever live up to her expectations, but the truth is, I’m not certain myself. I’msure my lack of advancement had something to do with it, but I feel like there must be more to it. The Undertaking is months away, so why now? “She didn’t like me very much,” I admit. It’s something I’ve known since she accused me of murder. Syrinx tolerated me because she thought she could use me. Something must have changed to make her think otherwise, or someone better came along.
“Somehow, I don’t believe that’s it. You would, however, make the perfect little spy,” he remarks, telling me he doesn’t trust me—not that I thought he did.
“I’m not a spy, but there’s no way for me to prove that to you.”
“Which is rather convenient if you think about it, since no one would know if you’re telling the truth or not.”
“Not right now it’s not,” I reply. It would be much easier if a truth detector could use their ability on me to let him know I’m not Syrinx’s spy.
