Page 32 of A Touch of Stars and Stones (Kirrian #1)

eighteen

. . .

Ever

I ’d been studying these books for days before my Transference, but I was reading with no direction, aimlessly pulling information together and looking for anything and everything.

Now, my scouring was for a five-letter word that, as it turns out, is like looking for a specific leaf in the forest—plenty of words around, but not the right one.

It was like the word didn’t exist in these pages.

But people knew what it was, or they wouldn’t be looking at me with such suspicion.

It wasn’t new.

Fifth.

No clear explanation of what magic I possess.

As my mind struggles to absorb all the lines of information, I start to wonder about the powers of the Orders and whether there is more to them or if they could be added to like spells?

My grumbling tummy interrupts me, and I know I can’t avoid the food hall for much longer.

Everyone will be there. Before the Transference, there had been a tentative acceptance from some, although I still didn’t know all the trainees. Hopefully, that might change now that I’m living here—no more special treatment.

Friends are something I didn’t have many of. Living where we did, alone and outside of the village, meant that Lyle and I mainly kept to ourselves. We didn’t have neighbours, just regular patrons who might visit to pick up things and trade their wares in return.

Thinking back over the aspects of my life with the new information from Kirrasia, I struggle to understand why we didn’t live in Osanor or Nestegarth.

Did Lyle keep me hidden on purpose? We would have been better off closer to people.

I shove the thought away, not ready to consider Lyle’s actions as anything other than those of the caring woman who raised me. I can dissect my past another day.

Now I have to brave what’s just down the hall. Perhaps a new opportunity for friends?

I ease out of my room, check the hallway, and listen for anyone already walking on the flagstones, but it’s empty. So, I head in the direction of the aromas and muffled voices and find dinner is still in full flow.

Everyone stills as I walk in, conversations quieting, and heads swivelling.

Two tables are occupied, a familiar split of trainees on each side. The fire roars in the hearth, and I wonder if it burns all through the night and every day of the year.

Trying to be quick, I head to the small servery area.

This is my first dinner as a trainee here, escorted back to the apartments to eat until my Transference.

At lunch, there had been platters of cold cuts, fruit and cheese for us laid out on the tables.

Now, roast meats, dishes of vegetables and fresh bread are on offer.

Hearty food. Good food.

I’ve been building my appetite these last few weeks but still fight with the concept of plenty. There is so much here.

My fork spears a slice of meat, and I add beans and carrots to my plate before grabbing a warm roll that smells of yeast and early mornings and everything I’ve associated with the comforts of home.

My throat constricts as my mouth waters, and I pull a shuddery breath in before turning to look out at the dining room and scanning the tables.

Ten’s sitting in his usual position, with Calix at his side. No Crimson. I recognise the others but can’t remember their names or Orders. Now I’m here, hopefully, that will change.

Micah jumps up from his table and brings me to his, and I smile at Raiden and Ascella. Their easy smiles from the last few weeks fade as I sit, and I see an edge of something else as both their eyes dip to the necklace now resting at the base of my throat.

“Hey,” I offer and study my plate, my appetite shrivelling by the second.

“I have to tell you. I thoroughly enjoyed your little fight earlier. Who knew you’d be so good? Those training sessions must have been effective.”

“She’s a Fifth, Micah. You think she’s not going to kick our ass now?” Ascella says from the other side of Micah.

“You know what a Fifth is?” I look at them all, reading their weary faces, but they remain quiet. I just purse my lips and dig into my food.

The first bite tastes of bitterness and frustration, memories of what I first felt here sparking to life and burning under my skin as I realise nothing has changed.

They told me to wait.

To wait until my Transference.

And like a gullible fool, I accepted what they said, not knowing what else to believe, as if my Transference might be a magic cure for everything that has happened to me. I’d be accepted, and things would even out.

It seems that all I’ve been is wrong since setting foot over the border.

The girls all finish up their food—I arrived late anyway—and leave.

Micah stays, and I can hear the apology in his silence.

It’s too quiet. “You’ve told me so much since being here. But you don’t want to tell me what I am?” I ask and study his face for the truth of his response.

“There are no Fifths here, Ever.” He shakes his head.

“It’s not that we don’t want to tell you.

It’s that we’re not really sure ourselves.

We’ve only been told that it’s extremely rare, and there isn’t even much information in the books.

And it’s dangerous. Someone should have realised with all your leaks of magic and confusion around your power.

” He hunches forward and rests his forearms on the table.

“Zuns, someone should have thought it possible. Maybe you should speak to the Orders. Or the Maker?” He turns his head to me, and there’s worry in his eyes.

“I’d rather take my chances alone than speak to that witch.” My voice is tight, stilting Micah’s conversation. I notice his empty plate. “You don’t have to wait for me. I’m fine,” I lie.

He seems to weigh up the decision, whether he should leave or not, but I guess I’m not the best company tonight. He stands. “See you at training.” His voice is a reflection of my mood, and I regret that I’ve dampened his general enthusiasm.

I push the food around on my plate as my appetite vanishes. The roll is still tempting, and I pick at the bread, tearing little bites off.

“You look like you could use some company.” I peer up and see Ten standing next to me, a small plate in his hand. A quick glance tells me the rest of the hall has cleared, and we’re alone.

“Be my guest. Unless you’ve come to take back your offer of help, and then maybe you could just leave me to myself.” I get the defence in quickly and keep my eyes on my plate.

“I told you I’d help. That hasn’t changed.” He drops down, straddling his strong thighs on either side of the wooden bench and putting the plate on the wooden table. My eyes look him over and trail up his chest to the grin on his lips.

I weigh his words or try to. “Thank you.”

He nods.

“And for earlier. The knife. Thank you. I wouldn’t have been able to fight without you.”

His smile grows, and he reaches his hand around his back and brings the knife out between us. “It wouldn’t hurt to get one made, that’s more… appropriate.”

“What’s wrong with this one?” I nod to the blade between us.

Ten just twists his hand back and forth, the metal gleaming, but I see that there’s something else on the blade, etched into the metal that I didn’t notice earlier.

The gleaming red stones in the hilt were hard to miss next to the grip of my hand.

“This is the Ciro knife. Handed to me by my father, although I do wonder…” he trails off.

“What?” The thought of getting information from Ten was akin to finding a new object to collect. Special.

“Why he bothered if he wasn’t going to ever be my Advocate. This is a Warrior knife.”

“So?” I ask as if that were an important thing. “Do Orders have different types of weapons?”

“I’m not a Warrior.”

I run the words over in my head. “You might not be in that Order, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t a warrior. The Order doesn’t encompass the whole definition. You don’t guard anything, do you?” I ask.

He’s quiet, and in the silence, I vow to learn everything I can about his Order.

“I’m a Fifth. That doesn’t tell me who I am, right?” It’s a question that isn’t rhetorical because I need him to tell me it’s not the case—that I haven’t suddenly become some mythical being possessing equally mythical power.

“No.”

I twist so I’m facing him fully, closing the gap between us a little, our knees nearly touching. “Then why does your Order exclude you from being a warrior in a different sense? You fight, right? Fighting isn’t always about physical violence, although I did enjoy that with Crimson earlier.”

His smile widens, and I see a flare of something in his eyes. The comfort I usually see in them is blanketed bysomething harder.

“Be careful with her. She’s been training her whole life.”

“And I beat her at her own game remarkably quickly.” I straighten my back, a swell of pride, I think, running over me.

“Just don’t underestimate her. Any of us, for that. Training for you will start in earnest now and with your… abilities.”

“Being a Fifth?” I cut in. “A magical Order nobody seems to know much about?” I push, just a little, to see if he knows more than Micah and if he’ll give me the information.

“There are people who must know. There are rumours. I guess we’ll all find out now, but don’t wear it like a shield.

You’re brand new to all of this, and training can hurt.

You know this. Rowan wasn’t kidding when he said Perrin is a brilliant healer.

Before the end, he’ll be needed for many of us. ”

“The end?” I ask.

“I told you about the trials. The end of training is the final trial. The heads of the Orders and The Chamber will have evaluated us by then and seen what we can do.”

“What can we do? Don’t they already know?”

“Not always. Trials push us and force us to work together. It’s more than just our powers in a singular sense. That’s the way they design the trials. To make us work outside of normal life.”