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“Hmm?” He peeks one eye open.
“Where is everyone?”
“Oh right.” Both eyes pop open. “Commander told me to tell cadets that we are on the lower level 2 for class today.” He jabs a thumb toward the hatches in the corner that I hadn’t noticed before.
The feeling of unease being underground triples just looking at the round silver hatches.
Gryphon closes his eyes, returning to his meditations.
“Alright then,” Ramona says, completely unperturbed by the potential descent into another training chamber. The Elders were serious when they said our training would increase tenfold with the impending war in the south and broken treaty.
I picked a terrible time to have courage and make a Telling for myself. I should have just stayed on the stage, sharing the stories of the Greats from a healthy distance.
But then I wouldn’t be avenging Goldenpine.
Or making Marrow proud.
Because somewhere, in the web of stars above, I know he is looking down on me right now.
My palms sweat on the cold steel as I lower myself down the hole after Ramona. The ladder descends for thirty feet before my feet are on solid ground once more.
Other cadets are already chatting in small groups within the dim space. The walls are less polished, giving way to the natural stone in some parts like the earth is trying to reclaim the space.
I squeeze my shoulders tight, suppressing a shudder.
“Surprised that you made it this far, Teller,” Sabra sneers from next to Cassiopeia and another Second-stone cadet I don’t recognize.
Ramona reaches for her waist, where, no doubt, lie hidden pockets of daggers that launch at the slightest touch.
Really, I have no idea how she doesn’t manage to cut herself daily.
I place a hand on her arm to stop the potential carnage on my behalf. “I’m surprised that you aren’t levels lower, licking the boots of your old Summit Sponsor. Tell me, do you like the Jord Lord more or less now that you know he is a traitor to the New World Peace Treaty?”
Cassiopeia gasps.
Ramona coughs.
Sabra charges toward me, stopping just inches from my face. Her spine arches as twin soulless eyes stare at me with vitriol. “It’s funny you mention licking the boots of Underworld Lords,” she says so low that only I can hear, “because at least I’m not fucking one.”
I blink.
She laughs, a preening sound that echoes in the vast open chamber. “That’s what I thought. You think you’re so special as a Starwatcher.”
At this point the entire class is silent watching us with interest.
Sabra spits at my feet. “You are just a filthy piece of trash pretending to be a warrior. I don’t give a fuck if you can hear the stars, because what good will that do you when we are battling, huh?”
Her words pierce my skin as sharp as any blade, almost hitting a vital organ. Its sting renders me speechless, cutting at that part of me that I keep wrapped under layers of protection until self-doubt seeps though.
The distinct ring of blades being unsheathed echoes from my right. Ramona steps forward, blade pressed to Sabra’s throat. “Don’t test me,” she growls.
Despite their height difference, Ramona manages to look down her nose at Sabra. “I’m already off a Solarball team because of these daggers, so why not celebrate by actually using them.”
Sabra’s black eyes widen the slightest, mask slipping for only a moment before her face of indifference returns.
THUD. THUD.
We all turn toward the ladder where Gryphon landed. Dust plumes from the ground where he slammed down from above, creating a cloud of particles that swirl up and around his legs. He moves to the side to reveal a second figure.
