His eyes assess my face like he’s searching for something. Every second of his face this close to mine, of his eyes examining my skin makes me feel like I’m being held beneath a flame. I’m heating up, burning from the inside out.
‘Your cheek looks better,’ he finally says, releasing the hold he had on my chin.
I’m so taken aback by his sudden change in tone that my voice comes out in a gravelly whisper. ‘The healers said it’ll stay like this. That the redness won’t fade.’
He nods again. Eyes boring into me. ‘And how does that make you feel?’
I chew on his question for a moment, rolling it around on my tongue as I decide how I want to answer this. No one has asked me that since I was attacked. Sebastian waits patiently for me to reply. As if he truly wants to know.
‘I guess – it makes me feel like my outside finally matches my inside.’
His head tilts. ‘What’s that?’
‘Fractured,’ I breathe. ‘Broken.’ Why I tell him this, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m hoping he’s consumed enough wine that he won’t remember this confession. Because that’s what it feels like, giving him this piece of me in the dark; the secret that I like to keep locked away inside of myself. How cracked I feel most days. How there is constant turmoil coiling around inside of me and now, finally, I have something to show for it. Gone is the porcelain skin that I was often told made me look fragile, like a doll. Now one side of my face has a stain of red streaked across it. As if my skin wanted to hold onto the memory of what happened, to remind me what I’ve been through.
Sebastian curses. It’s soft, barely audible. He looks like he wants to say something, but he stops himself.
‘Come on,’ he finally grits out, taking a step away from me. ‘Let’s get you back to your room before someone comes out here.’
I don’t argue. Instead, I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling the cold seep in. It’s like he’s a furnace and the second he’s not within touching distance the temperature around me drops. I hate that I enjoy his warmth so much.
We walk in silence. He lets me through Malachite’s gate and follows behind me all the way to my room. I step inside, noting that Lillianisn’t in here yet, though she has been getting in rather late. I’m not sure what time it is.
My hand curls around the door handle, but something stops me from shutting the door. My eyes drop to find a black boot holding it open. Slowly, my head rises until we’re eye to eye.
I feel my mouth tug into a frown. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask him, my voice shaking as I grip the edge of the door frame with my other hand.
‘We’re all a little fractured, Nocthare,’ he says. A muscle ticks in his jaw as if the words physically cause him pain. ‘We’re all a little ruined. It’s what makes us human’
‘I-I don’t …’ I stutter, because what is happening right now? And why is my heart starting to pick up speed?
‘Our battle scars and pain are a testament to how much we’re willing to endure for the ones we love. And if anything, that’s what makes someone worthy of Malachite.’
I stand there, well after he has left the corridor and disappeared down the steps. Just staring at the place he stood, wondering if that was him finally admitting that I belong here.
If only he knew, half of my determination stems from fear. Fear of my father’s wrath. Fear of never knowing what happened to my brother. Fear of failure.
THIRTY
It’s been days since Tilly and I were caught outside the Noctis Ring. It took me all night to eventually swallow the guilt I felt over putting my friend in potential danger and all of the next day to decide that I will no longer walk around here unprotected.
While I may not have access to my element there are other means of defending myself if needed, and that is how I find myself eyeing up the shiny silver blades laid out on a long table against the wall. Their handles are wrapped in deep green leather, and their blades are at least seven inches long.
Nicks is leading the CNM class today in the Training Centre. He’s walking back from the wooden target that’s been hung on the wall. Sebastian and the other combat leaders have been sent off to train a group of second -years outside. The room is rather quiet for once, seeing as it’s only our class here. Something tells me this was planned, because Nicks is allowing first -year students to handle sharp pointy things and expecting us to throw them … with accuracy.
This should be fun. I’ve been practising throwing and handling the dagger I discovered in Lillian’s bag. I know I shouldn’t have snooped, but once I found the weapon, I couldn’t help but marvel at its intricate beauty. At the weight that feltsoright in my hands. I started practising throwing it at my bathroom door. It’s not been very successful, buton the rare occasions the blade sticks into the wood, I feel a rush flood through me.
My jackets cover the door, so Lillian hasn’t noticed the blade marks hidden behind them, yet. We’re supposed to earn the right to touch those weapons encrusted with malachite, but when you’ve had multiple near-death experiences and you’re stuck inside an academy of magic wielders … the rules can kiss my ass. I need to defend myself, and I’ll do what it takes to do so.
Nicks gives the order for us to line up and explains the rules. We’ll be given three daggers each round to throw. He’ll tell us where we went wrong. And then we’ll go to the back of the line to wait for our turn all over again.
‘I expect you all to handle these weapons with care and respect. I also want to note that the student who hits the target the least number of times will not be attending the Imber Stellarum celebration in a few weeks’ time. Instead, they will be spending the evening here, cleaning.’
A loud chorus of groans erupt s around me, meanwhile I look around confused. I turn to Isla Peters, my new partner since Moira, who is ahead of me, was placed into Lillian’s group. The first day back into combat training was different. Isla and I had only exchanged a few words, plus the strange encounter we had in the forest. But slowly, I think we’re beginning to find common ground. She even helped me with my form two days ago when we were sparring and I was on offence. It was only a passing comment, but I’ve taken it as a positive gesture.
‘What’s the Imber Stellarum celebration?’ I ask her, feeling like I’ve heard of it before, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it means.
Her sandy brows lift. ‘It’s the night we celebrate when our Stars founded Valmora. How do you not know this?’ she asks, surprise evident in her voice. ‘Did your parents never celebrate?’
