Tilly walks with me down the corridor and gestures to a set of double doors off to the side. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?’ she asks, looking through the windows across the manicured grass to the furthest building from the main structure.
The Training Centre.
From what Lukas told me, it’s mainly occupied with students from Malachite for Combat class, but Opal students utilise it as well. I know from my mother’s stories that healers need to learn basic combat skills in case they are ever required to step foot on a battlefield. They can’t look after the lives of others without ensuring they know how to look after themselves first.
While I was changing, Tilly read me my schedule, which consists of five different classes: History, Elemental Magic, Sympathetic Magic, Basic Healing, and Combat No Magic, which changes to Combat With Magic once students progress. The latter is where I’m supposed to be right now. According to the piece of paper folded in my back pocket, the class started twenty minutes ago.
I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the fresh salty air that blows in through a few of the open windows, then nod at Tilly. ‘I’m sure. I need to do this part on my own.’
I walk along the soft grass toward the Training Centre, listening to the sound of waves crashing against rocks in the distance and using every step to place a metaphorical slab of armour over my skin. I’d be lying if I said I’m not nervous about walking in there, because I fucking am. But I use this time to remind myself that I deserve to be here. Before everything that happened, I was a legacy student; magic or not,my blood runs through these halls just like the rest of them. If I have any hope of proving my father wrong about me – about Lukas – I need to make sure everyone else sees that I belong here too. If I get kicked out, I’ll accomplish nothing, and I haven’t gone and put myself into the starsdamn Warrior Unit to walk out of here empty-handed.
I lift my gaze to the overcast sky, then back down to the two-storey academic building off to my left and finally, behind me, to the colossal building looming at my back, and try to imagine Lukas here. I try to envision him walking across this very grass to get to his Combat classes. I try to picture him lying in a bed like I was, with healers fussing about his wounds or bruises from fighting. Because no doubt he had them all wrapped around his fingers with his charm and easy smile.
A smile that seemed a lot less bright the last time he visited. A smile that seemed forced, and that had wavered at the corners of his mouth when he’d said goodbye, heading back to the academy after we only got a few days with him.
I knew something was wrong the second he left. Usually, he was brimming with energy to return to the academy and get back into his classes and training, an energy that I imagine came with being the best at everything he did. I remember the way he wrapped his strong arms around me and tugged me tight against his chest, resting his chin atop my head – like he knew. He knew it might be the last time he did it.
A painful throbbing settles behind my ribs at the thought that he still decided to go back even when he knew there was something coming.
Only one month later he died.
The bruises around my neck, the cut across my palm, now sealed and resembling a dark purple line thanks to the healers, are nothing compared to the pain of losing Lukas … nothing.
I tell myself, that this too will be nothing. I can walk into a damn building and face the Malachite students because I’ve already felt more pain than I thought imaginable. If I can handle that, I can handle a bunch of assholes who hate me and don’t want me here.
The Training Centre, like the rest of the academy, is made from limestone, this time just one level and in the shape of a long rectangle. I push my way through the double doors at the entrance, letting them close behind me with a thud as I step into the open area teeming with students dressed in clothes like mine.
There are black fall mats strewn about the room with handfuls of students circled around them. The circle closest to me has two students locked in a stand-off. They skirt around the mat, neither of them making a move, instead locked in some sort of dance where when one of them inches forward, the other moves back.
I notice what I assume to be older students, or trainers, giving instructions as they pace along the mats, speaking to the younger audiences in front of them. Others are engaged in combat, some being pinned to the mat by their opponent s, some holding wooden staves and using them to advance on their rivals.
Lukas had a pair of staves at home that he’d had custom made for his height and build. They were heavy, though that didn’t stop him from dragging me outside to practise with him. Seeing similar staves here gives me a modicum of relief. I spent countless hours training with my brother, enough to know I’m decent with them. I can hold my own. According to Lukas, I was a natural.
‘Nocthare!’ A voice yells my name from the far end of the room. My head snaps up. The shout was loud enough that several students pause what they’re doing and watch as Sebastian Zain stalks toward me with quick powerful strides. ‘What do you think you’re doing here?’ he snaps, coming to stand in front of me.
Stars, he’s huge. Taller than Harley. Where Harley was wide and bulky as he towered over me, Sebastian is leaner and more defined, with a tapered waist – a waist that looks perfectly sculpted, from the way his black shirt, damp with sweat, sticks to his skin.
‘I’m here for Combat class,’ I state flatly, glad to find my voice sounds clear as I pretend his presence does not affect me. If he wants to playthe ‘I don’t know who you are’ game, then so will I. I push away every memory of him seated across from me at our family dining table, the silent moments he offered me comfort when my father rained insults on me, the curious glances he’d send my way when he caught me watching him as he trained with Lukas outside. I picture an open steel box and then I shove, with both hands, all those memories inside the box and close it.
He is not the Sebastian I thought I knew.
Sebastian shakes his head. ‘No, you’re not. You’re late and you already missed orientation, so get out.’ He points over my head at the doors I just came in.
‘No!’ I protest. ‘I’m not leaving.’ I look past him, spotting a familiar snarky redhead standing with what I presume are the other first years. She’s whispering into the ear of another student, when her eyes find mine and narrow viciously.Great!I move to pass Sebastian, but he blocks me, his large frame crowding mine. He starts to walk forward, forcing me back several steps until I hear the sniggers around me and dig my heels in. I willnotlet him push me out. His chest brushes mine as he looks down his nose at me.
‘You’ll leave or I’ll put you out myself. Look around. No one wants you here.’
His words sting, though I don’t let it show. I keep my face neutral.
‘Tell that to your grandfather. He’s the one who signed my acceptance letter. Notyou.’ Bringing his grandfather into this is a low blow; I know it, he knows it. But I won’t be walked on like a rug. I’ll play dirty too if I have to.
His nostrils flare and a dangerous glint appears in his eyes.
‘All right, fine. You win,’ he spits, then grabs my upper arm tightly in one of his large hands and, suddenly, I’m being pulled alongside him as his muscled legs eat up the space between us and the first years at the back of the room.
‘What are you doing?’ I gasp, attempting to yank myself free from his hold. ‘Let me go!’ My feet struggle to keep up with his long strides. Hell, he’s almost lifting me off the ground as he drags me through the crowd.
‘You want to train so bad? Then have at it.’ He releases me harshly. I stumble before I manage to catch myself, only to find I’m standing in the middle of a circular mat that looks similar to a fighting ring.
