Page 11

Chapter

Seven

ARA

We wait for what feels like forever in the line for questioning. It seems everyone chose to keep this part for last. We spend the time talking and joking, and the small group we formed allows us to wander out of line without losing our spot.

The last time I checked, the scrape I inflicted on myself had dried into a scab, hiding every sign of what lay beneath.

Calix excused himself a few minutes ago, and I’m listening to two other candidates talking while trying to stay calm. My nerves get worse the closer I get to the door.

A rider walks down the corridor, lighting the torch-like fixtures on the wall.

They have a steady golden glow, nothing like the violet-bluish flicker of magic flames.

Since Ian is fire gifted, we use a lot of magic flames at the fortress.

According to him, anchoring his gift to an object—charming it—is easy, making it accessible even if he’s not around.

Lighting a whole building like this solely with magic seems excessive, but not surprising, considering how many gifted live in these buildings.

A tall blond girl walks down the hallway like she owns the place.

She strides forward, pushing two candidates out of her way, heading directly to the front of the line.

I step to the side, letting her pass, but glare at her back when a red-haired girl, who didn’t see her coming, stumbles over someone else and falls after being pushed aside.

The arrogant bitch simply keeps going, not even sparing a backward glance to see if she harmed her.

I help the girl up, still staring in disbelief. The bully arrives at the front, going straight for the skyrider guarding the door. He shakes his head at her while he points at the end of the line, and she starts to argue.

I turn away from the pending drama to assure the girl I helped up is unhurt.

She is rubbing the wrist she landed on, her eyes on the bully.

“That’s Livia Vaccari,” she mutters. Seeing my inquiring look, she gestures to the girl who pushed her. “If you look up the word entitled bitch, I’m sure you’ll find her picture.”

I snort. “Which one ‘entitled’ or ‘bitch’?”

She grins. “Both. I’m Mariel, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m A…” I stop. Shit. “I’m Grayson.” I try to cover up my fumbling with a smile.

That was close.

I have to be careful until I’m used to my new name. While Mariel seems nice, I’m still troubled by my near slipup and head back to the people and the conversation I abandoned before.

“My brother is bonded to a Strix. When he visited us, his bird stared like he wanted to take a bite out of me. Thankfully, he didn't.” The speaker chuckles, and others laugh with him. I’m searching my brain for his name but come up empty.

“They say their scream can kill a man if he isn’t healed in time,” he continues.

I hope not. Otherwise, I’m fucked.

“Night Ravens are great, and they have night vision. How awesome is it to be able to fly at night, too?” a candidate says.

“Good luck with that.” Another snorts. “They’re incredibly picky. No, you better go for a Rukh or Strix. Rukhs are a little smaller, but they are unbelievably agile.”

I listen to their arguments, but it isn’t like we have a choice in the matter. The birds will choose us, not the other way around.

A person steps close, drawing my attention away from the discussion next to me.

“Hey, darling, you don’t mind if I slip in front of you, do you?” I find myself face-to-face with the bully and recognize her also as the blond girl who buried her blade in her opponent earlier. She is currently invading my personal space and drags a finger down my neck, batting her eyelashes.

What the fuck?

I’m caught between irritation about her earlier behavior and being stumped as to why she comes onto me and not one of the men around us.

Ah fuck. I’m Grayson now. I forgot again, but at least it means my ruse is believable.

My eyes wander over her while I decide how to handle this situation. She is pretty—I have to admit—and she knows it. Her cold, calculating look also tells me she’s used to getting her way, no matter the cost.

She picked the wrong target this time. I suppress a smile.

“Actually, darling , I do mind.” I pluck her fingers off my skin and point at the end of the line. “The end of the line is back there.”

We have more than one pair of eyes trained on us by now.

She pouts. “You really want me to walk over there? Instead of staying right next to you?”

“Yes, please.” I try not to laugh at the indignation on her face. The candidates around us snicker while a flush creeps up her neck, and her eyes turn hard. She doesn’t like to be told no, it seems.

“Do you know who I am?” Sounds like someone’s family is mighty important around here. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but poke a little.

“My, my, that must have been quite a hit you took.” I give her my best innocent smile. “Don’t worry, being confused can happen after severe head trauma.” She rears back as if I had hit her.

“You think I have a head injury?” she screeches, looking insulted. I have an inkling she took what I said as an insult to her looks, which hadn’t been my intention.

Laughter ignites around us. Her face turns red before she huffs out a breath and storms off, heading to the end of the line.

I may have made my first enemy before the first year even started.

Maybe backing down would have been wise , I contemplate as Calix walks up to me.

“What was that about?” Calix looks at the blond girl’s retreating back.

“Apparently, I should have known who she was and fallen to her feet.” I shrug. Calix chuckles and looks over at the girl. She now stands at the end of the line, sending me a death glare. He winks at her, and she looks ready for murder.

“Not one for charming the ladies, eh?” Calix bumps my shoulder.

I hide my laugh by coughing. “No, can’t say that I am.”

About an hour later, we reach the front of the queue. My palms are clammy, and I force myself to take deep, even breaths to calm my racing heart.

My hands graze the dagger on my belt, but I stop myself before checking the slim knife hidden in my boot.

I’m always armed and not only to defend myself.

Any trace of magic vanishes when a person dies.

I swallow, and my mouth is suddenly dry.

Not that it will change the outcome for me, but at least my family would be safe.

“Hey, you’re next.” The rider’s voice jolts me out of my thoughts.

I take another deep breath and open the door in front of me.

I’m startled when I find myself in another hallway.

“Room four,” a voice says right next to me, and I whip around. A girl a few years younger than me smiles up at me, sitting behind a small desk. “Undergarments only, you can undress behind the screen and leave your things there as well. A healer will be with you shortly.”

I nod and walk over to the wooden door with a small four on eye level.

The room is a warm yellow, its window overlooking the atrium below. A wooden desk sits right beneath the window, and a dark leather-coated bed occupies the other side of the room, right next to the screen the girl talked about.

I’m just placing my clothes on the stool behind the screen when the door opens.

“Are you ready in here, or should I start with someone else?” a cheery voice asks.

“I’m ready,” I say, stepping out from behind the screen while the healer places a thick, leather-bound book on the desk with an audible thump.

The middle-aged woman is dressed in the typical dark red color most healers favor.

With laugh lines around her eyes, she doesn’t look the least bit intimidating, but I’m terrified.

She walks around me, inspecting my skin, while I concentrate on anything but the fact that her fingers and her healing magic are too close for comfort and that only a little dried blood covers my secret. This is it. This is the moment I dread.

I take a deep breath, fighting the urge to run.

“Quite a few scratches you’ve got there.” She eyes my right arm. I squish the urge to hide it behind my back.

Calm and collected, no fidgeting.

“Happens when your opponents are bigger and stronger.” I shrug, trying to keep my breaths slow and even.

“I can heal them for you,” she offers.

“No, that’s fine,” I say.

She looks at me skeptically.

“Maybe they scar, and I have something to remember this day by,” I add.

Her facial expression tells me she’s not a fan of that concept, but at least it will explain the rest of my scars.

She shrugs and turns toward the desk. I release my breath, conscious of not being too obvious about it.

She picks up two objects and carries them over to me. Two balls made of a bluish-gray stone. She hands me the first; it’s cool, smooth, and heavy in my hands. She watches me closely like there is more to it than holding a stone ball.

Is this some kind of test?

She takes it back and hands me the other one.

The hum in the air is the only warning I get before it hits my palm. Pain pulses through my hand, and I fight to keep my face passive.

The stone ball is loaded with magic. Something inside me stirs, like a snake uncurling, reacting to it. I struggle to maintain my stoic expression while the magic seeps into me, and the thing inside me rises and drinks it up.

It’s only a small trickle, but I know it will get stronger the longer I hold it until there is no more magic left to take.

She reaches out to take the ball back. I can’t wait to be rid of it, but I put it down slowly, just like the other one. I hope she can’t sense the magic lessened, but I’ve never heard of anyone being able to gauge the amount of magic an object holds.