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My hands pressed into my hips. I had to stay calm, present.Be a gryphon, not a seraphim disguised as one.Haleika was stretching a few feet ahead of me, close enough to overhear the conversation. She turned her head, her eyes widening on me standing between Viktor and Brockton. Leander sank into a deep stretch beside her.

Haleika took a step, like she was starting toward me to help. She’d done it countless times before—told off Tani or other soturi who thought I was free game now that I was a soturion.

But I shook my head carefully at her. Viktor outranked her. She could not safely come to my aid. Not this time. I had to handle them myself.

Her brown eyes—so like Tristan’s—widened with sorrow when she realized what I was doing, and I offered a small smile, hoping to convey my full meaning. It was the most genuine interaction we’d had since the day she’d come to my apartment.

She turned back to Leander, catching her foot in her hand as she did a standing stretch. On either side of me, Viktor and Brockton moved closer to me, the smell of bad coffee foul on their breath.

“Be careful, Asherah,” Viktor said. “You made it this far, but your time is running out. You have one month left, to be exact.”

“Feeling brave because your big uncle’s coming?”

Viktor cursed. “Enjoy your run.” He lifted his foot, his black eyes boring into mine, and without warning stomped the heel of his boot down onto my dagger. The hilt vanished as his heel drove the blade deep into the ground.

Fuck. I was going to have to get on my hands and knees and literally dig to get it free before I could finish the run.

“Yourself to Moriel,” I snarled, glancing over my shoulder to the center of the track. Had Aemon seen this? Or Dairen? Would anything be done? Had it been the other way around, and Viktor had accused me of some slight, Dairen would have been dragging me to the pole at once. But despite Dairen’s glee in punishing fairly, even punishing heirs, I had never once seen Viktor called out for his behavior.

“Oh, no, how will you get your dagger back without a shovel? Brockton,” Viktor chided, “so clumsy of you.”

My hands curled into fists at my sides—they were replicas of their fathers, of the Imperator and the Bastardmaker.

Aemon called out for everyone to prepare just as the clocktower bells began to ring out and the ashvan shot into the sky.

I took off, my arms tight at my sides, my pace picking up. Fuck stamina. Today was about speed, about running faster than Viktor and staying the hell away from him until the hour was over. It was too bad Rhyan wasn’t here. Between my anger at Viktor Kormac burning through me and my anxiety at Rhyan’s absence, I ran the fastest I ever had, passing three soturi at one point.

When the hour ended, I crouched on the ground and dug up my dagger, the cold dirt caking beneath my fingernails. Thankfully, Haleika and Galen came to my rescue, using their blades to dig. I was grateful to have Haleika back on my side, or, at least, acting like she was. Especially when Naria, Pavi, and Tani began to circle closer to me in the dining hall, clearly because of Rhyan’s absence.

There was a shout of “Shekar arkasva” as I ate lunch. I froze, glancing around, but there was no way to figure out where the shout had come from. Everyone in the dining hall seemed to delight in hearing the phrase—the phrase used as the call of terrorists—pronounced so boldly to me. Classmates I hadn’t expected to turn on me were now leering in my direction or laughing. Across the dining hall, Viktor, Brockton, and every other brute from Ka Kormac was sitting at the table Rhyan usually occupied, howling.

I leapt from my seat. I couldn’t take it anymore, and I retreated to the training room, hoping to find Rhyan. It was empty. I set down my bags and sat on a stack of mats, drawing my knees up to my chest and taking deep breaths to stay calm.

The door burst open, and Rhyan stumbled in. He looked at me, his eyes glassy and unfocused, as he closed the door behind him.

“You’re back,” I said, relief spreading through me.

Rhyan opened his mouth as if to say hello, then collapsed to the ground. Face first.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Gods!Rhyan!”Ishotacross the room, crouching beside him.

He didn’t make a sound or move.

“Rhyan?” I shook his shoulders. “Rhyan!”

Fuck! What the fuck had happened? Was he breathing? I wrapped my arms around him and rolled him onto his back, using my hand to support his head, as I pressed my ear to his mouth. He was breathing, but it was shallow, his chest barely rising with each inhale. His face had paled more than usual so it was nearly white, and his scar stood out, red as if it had just been bleeding, but there was no sign of blood. In fact, I couldn’t find evidence of any injury anywhere on his body. I ran my hands up and down his arms and over his chest, checking for cuts, bruises, or rips in his clothing. There was nothing.

Icy cold fear began to settle inside me. What if he had been akadim hunting? Getting mauled, cut, or bitten by an akadim wasn’t the worst thing it could do to you. Being beaten to within an inch of death by an akadim was the best outcome one could wish for in most cases.

Akadim were known to rape their victims—sometimes alive, sometimes not. And even that wasn’t their worst offense. The most horrific outcome of losing a fight to an akadim was becoming one—becoming forsaken. They did this through soul-eating—sucking out the soul of their victim and devouring it. It had given me nightmares as a child. Even then I’d known this was a fate worse than death.

The evil act of soul-eating left only a single scar—a black circle over the victim’s heart—marking the place the soul left the body.

My hands shook with fear. I had to know, had to see for myself. Rhyan showed no other sign of injury. If he’d been attacked, his skill in fighting might have left him unscathed, but his soul…. When akadim planned to create a forsaken, they left the body whole. My fingers were unsteady as I reached for the top of Rhyan’s tunic. I pulled the neckline down to expose his collarbone, revealing the edges of his black gryphon tattoo, followed by his chest, his heart.

There was no mark. I slid my hand down his skin. So warm. And strong. And whole.