‘Must’ve been a fluke!’ Moira sniggers behind me.
‘How many didyouget on your first try, Davis?’ Isla asks, turning Moira’s cheeks a deep shade of pink. I push my shoulders back and walk to retrieve my daggers, ignoring the death glare she sends my way. Look at me, I call that growth.
I stole one.
I did it.
I stole a dagger from Nicks at the end of the class when he pulled Aiden Redford aside to speak to him, probably to praise him for his success. By the time we were on our fifth round, Aiden had managed to stick every single one of his daggers … every time. He absolutely dominated the group and, by the end of it, all the students were looking at him in awe. Even me. He was just so damn good at it. Fluid and quick, it came to him like breathing.Thud, thud, thud.His daggers dug thin slices into the target each time.
Isla whispered her theory that he must practise using them in his spare time. ‘There’s no way someone could get that good,thatquickly,’ she stated.
I managed to stick to my quota of one successful throw each time. Which just downright pissed me off. The second I thought I had nailed it, I’d throw too wide, or too soft, missing the target or making thedagger spin so much that the hilt whacked against where the blade should have landed.
The thought of Aiden practising in his own time was just enough to push me over the precipice. I walked along the table and slipped one of the daggers up my shirt and into the waistband of my pants. My heart was racing a million miles a minute as I frantically scanned my surroundings to ensure no lingering eyes had glanced my way. In fact, it was a little anti-climactic and I thought for a second that maybe I was being set up. But seeing as I made it back to my room, managed to stuff the blade beneath the sink in the bathroom, then went to lunch with Tilly and Xavier, attended Elemental Magic class and returned to my room only to discover it’s right where I left it … I’m beginning to think maybe Ididjust snatch it at the right time.
I’ve had a shower since I got back and changed into a pair of soft, pale blue cotton shorts and a long-sleeved matching top. I push my damp hair out of my face and over my shoulder and reach up to draw a large circle on the back of my door with a piece of white chalk I found among the things I brought from home. It’s almost funny that I thought I’d have time to draw and do normal hobbies at the academy. Instead, here I am, using it to practise cutting the air with daggers. How my life has changed.
Within the large circle, I draw a smaller circle right in the middle and step back to admire my handy work. Perfect. I pick up the dagger on the end of my bed and step a good ten feet back from the door.
The weight of the dagger feels almost comforting in my hand as I hold it at my side. I don’t know what it is, but it justfeelsright. Almost more so than when I have a stave flipping over my shoulder or whizzing through the air as I twist it around my torso. My skin warms the leather. I stand there, envisioning throwing it at the thick wooden door as I mull over every slice of advice Nicks gave me earlier. I breathe slowly and relax my hold on the hilt as I bring it up near my ear, and with an exhale I fling my arm forward, letting the dagger fly from my hand.
As if time has slowed, I watch as the door opens and standing in the place of the target is Sebastian Zain. My mouth opens in a silent scream as his eyes widen.Justbefore the dagger finds purchase in the middle of his forehead, Sebastian reacts quicker than I can fathom and snatches it out of the air with his bare hand.
Blood immediately begins to pool from his closed fist where it’s wrapped around the blade. It oozes down his wrist in thick red rivulets until it drips to the floor in front of his boots.
THIRTY-ONE
Ispring into action and dash to the bathroom to grab the first clean towel I can find. I’m standing in front of him before he’s finished closing my bedroom door, still holding the dagger by the blade.
‘I’m sorry. I’msosorry. Oh my god, sit down!’ I pull him by the shoulders and bring him to the edge of my bed. He doesn’t protest, or shout at me like I expect him to. Instead, he lets me sit him down and lay the towel on his lap as I kneel at his feet and inspect his wound. ‘What are you doing here? You didn’t knock.Whydidn’t you knock?’ I start to ramble, horrified as blood continues to well in between his fingers. I gasp as he slowly opens his hand. ‘T-that’s a lot of blood. Fuck.Shit. That isa lotof blood.’
The blade has cut deep across the palm of his hand as well as his last three fingers. I feel his eyes on me as I push down my panic with a groan and order him to hold still. Not that he’s moved at all in the last minute, he just sits there, staring at my face while I slowly pull the dagger from his skin and lay it on the bed next to him. The bloodied blade starts to stain the blanket, but I couldn’t care less as guilt threatens to swallow me up. Stars, what if he hadn’t reacted as quickly as he did and caught it? I’d be pulling the dagger from his face, not his hand.
The fact that I’m so rattled by the prospect of hurting him shakes me to my core. A strange emotion settles in my throat as I picture hislifeless eyes staring up at me with the dagger I stole protruding from his head.
Quickly, I push the towel into his hand.
‘Hold this and keep pressure on it.’
I rise to my feet and rush to my bathroom, delving into the cabinet beneath the sink. Miscellaneous items clatter to the floor beside my legs as I dig for the box at the back. Once my fingers wrap around the edges, I run back to the room, skidding to a stop in front of Sebastian, and drop back to my knees. I open it up and try to ignore the bloodied fingerprints I’m leaving all over it.
‘It’s going to need stitches,’ I tell him as I pull out a needle and a thread, holding them both up for him to see.
Again, he doesn’t say anything, just watches me with a calm expression that unnerves the hell out of me. Why isn’t he yelling? Heshouldbe yelling. He could have died! I want to scream at him to say something, but I need to get his wounds closed before he bleeds out, on my bed of all places, and I really am found guilty of murder.
I place the needle and thread back in the box as I see the towel starting to darken with his blood and instead pull out a glass bottle that’s wedged in right next to the jar Tilly gave me for my face. I mentally thank my past self for packing a box full of my mother’s healing tinctures. Not only did they help after the incident in the tunnel, but they’re going to do a whole lot of help right now.
‘I’m going to need you to open your hand. Once you do, I’ll take the towel away and I need you to keep your hand open so I can drop this onto your wounds.’
‘What is it?’ Stars. Hefinallyspeaks.
‘It’ll help stop the bleeding or at least slow it down. But I should warn you that it’ll hurt.’ He looks down at his hand and then back at me dryly. ‘Right.’ I nod in understanding. ‘You’re already in pain.’ I internally cringe and shuffle forward on my knees, then unscrew the lid and pull out the dropper. It’s filled with brownish-gold liquid.
‘All right, you can open your hand now,’ I instruct him, hovering the dropper over his hand.
He opens it slowly. His lips forming a hard line is the only indication that it causes him pain; other than that, he sits stoic and still. Like a statue observing what is happening to him, rather than feeling it. It pools in his palm, mixing with the blood and staining his skin. Sebastian’s fingers flex as the last of the liquid is dripped onto them and Iknowit must be stinging.
‘The first time my mom used this on me, I cried,’ I tell him, remembering the burning sensation as it began to clot the blood.
