I wouldn’t lose the chance to graduate, even if it meant publicly accepting the most insulting Skinscript glyph.
Straightening my spine, I refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing how disappointed and upset I was as I walked up to the platform and extended my arm. Instructor Penbrook drew the glyph onto my forearm without even a twitch of distaste. Even with his clear dislike of me, his brushwork was still impeccable. A familiar warmth soaked into me when hefinished, what I now recognized as the power of a new Skinscript taking root.
“Thank you,” I said, voice even. My smile felt more like a baring of my teeth.
“A suitable Skinscript for a criminal,” he said.
“Don’t you mean Apostate?” I challenged. “I served my sentence.”
“I meant what I said,” he stepped back, looking pointedly back toward the edge of the platform.
Instructor Garcien stepped toward us. “Quentin, you should know better than to play favorites, or repeat unconfirmed stories.”
Instructor Penbrook didn’t look chastised at all.
She handed me a sheathed Starshell dagger, coiled rope, and spyglass. “Don’t forget your gifts. I hope you continue on to become a notable Voyager.”
Clutching the gifts to my chest with both hands, I fought down the conflicting riot of emotions welling up. “Thank you.”
I forced one foot in front of the other until I stood beside Corra again. She inquired about what he’d said and I repeated it back to her.
“What a loathsome little toad Penbrook is,” Corra whispered to me. “Forget him. I hope Luck brings you so much fortune his memory rots beneath the piles of your gold.”
Tucking the rope and spyglass into my pocket and the dagger into the hem of my pants, I gave her a weak shrug. “Beauty is the last thing you need more of, but I hope it helps you too.”
It didn’t matter what crime he thought I’d committed. Or if Yeshar had orchestrated me receiving Luck. I would never be forced back into the Reformatory now that I was qualified in a service. Any future crimes would see me returned to theDevourer. If Instructor Penbrook thought I had committed a crime, he didn’t have any hard evidence, or I’d already be dead.
Luck was now a permanent addition to my growing collection of Skinscript, and I’d make the most of it. Even if that meant no more than winning at Haburi.
More and more graduates were called up and decorated with Skinscript. I tuned it all out.
The simmering heat of anger hadn’t left my blood. When I glanced toward Zevrial, he looked how I felt.
He’d taken on a russet pallor, muscles ticking in his jaw and neck as he stared at Instructor Penbrook with unconcealed fury. His eyes promised violence.
It didn’t matter what Skinscript I received. I was a Voyager now, and I was proud of everything I’d put in to become one. This wasn’t a service I preferred, but it was mine. Nothing Instructor Penbrook, Yeshar, or the Ascendancy could throw at me would diminish what I’d achieved.
So why did I still feel so mad?
I traced the new glyph on my skin with light pressure, taking a steadying breath while trying to force myself to calm down. It wasn’t working. I wanted to hit something, or more specifically, someone. There was an invisible wall between me and my emotions right now, where they were too far out of reach to manage, yet close enough to bleed into a temper.
Pulling in another gulp of air, I concentrated on slowing the wild animal in my chest that my heart pretended to be. It kept racing and my frustration was climbing higher.
I shot a pointed look at Zevrial, pulling one clenched fist up to my chest above our shared Skinscript and giving him my best scowl.
Knock it off.
My pounding heartbeat slowed, anger coiling in me like a serpent saving its strike.
Instructor Garcien stepped up to the podium as the final Voyager moved back onto the sand with their new Skinscript. “The Devourer has blessed us with enough Voyagers this year to complete the crew for another Arc. This year’s graduates will be assigned to the Shadowtide, which leaves from Cyrthei for Raevar in two days at ten am. The journey is one week in both directions, so pack accordingly.”
Two days to pack up my things from the outpost, plan the best way to ruin my own wedding, and pack again for what would be a two week long voyage.
My first voyage on an Arc.
And it would be to the outermost isle.
Something squirmed in my gut, and I identified it as unease.
