Page 8

Eight

Y et again, Professor Grimot completely ignored Kamine during their lesson, reading his book, and writing notes within it, instead. She at least hoped that he was reading something interesting. Perhaps he was learning new ways to torture students without getting blood on his hands. She could imagine him back in his room, testing out how long he could place a large rock on a person’s chest before it would suffocate them, or maybe, a way to force pebbles down someone’s throat, choking them.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Kamine snapped her head up to him. She didn’t realize how distracted she had become.

“How did you even know I had stopped?” she asked.

“Because,” he started, leaning back against the wall. He was practically laying down at this point, with his long legs outstretched all the way, and his pants riding up to reveal boring, black socks. His shoulder-length hair was down today, and she could see he had trimmed his beard, a light stubble shadowing his face—not that she was paying him that much attention. “You either move your hands, your head, whisper to yourself, or stare so hard at the rock that your eyes tear up from not blinking for so long.”

She supposed that was true, but she hated how easily he could read her.

“I just needed a break.”

“You haven’t even done anything,” he pointed out.

Did he really need to remind her how utterly useless she was? Maybe she should just leave, and tell him she was done with these private lessons. He clearly had no actual interest in teaching her.

“Well…” she began, her whole demeanor deflated. She didn’t have a fight within her. What would be the point? It wouldn’t change anything. She would still be the same powerless woman. Angering him wouldn’t help. “I just don’t know what to do.”

It hurt to say the words out loud, to admit that no matter how many books she read or how many attempts she made, she had no idea what to do to fix this.

For so long, she had considered that maybe there were no powers brimming beneath her skin. That she was utterly empty of the magic of the court. It was rare, but not impossible. But one day, she had felt the spark of it. It was barely there, just enough to notice. Her mother was having a day of clarity. They both were out in the woods picking berries when a bird flew down and snatched the red fruit from Kamine’s fingers. Right as Kamine and her mother laughed, the faintest shudder rocked through Kamine. Kamine recognized it for what it was immediately.

“Lift the rock,” he said simply.

“Clearly, I can’t,” she replied, deadpan. She had no idea why he thought commanding her around would be the solution.

“Try again.”

She closed her eyes, wanting to be in her bed instead. Away from him, away from facing her incompetence.

“Try again,” he said, more forcefully this time.

She grit her teeth. “What’s the point? You aren’t even helping.”

“Try again,” he demanded.

“Why do you even care?”

“Fucking try again!” he yelled. The sound reverberated, and it startled her, how much his own voice was tinged with pain, almost like he was begging. He heaved, his chest rising and falling deeply, as if it took him great effort.

Fine then . She rolled her shoulders and neck. Outstretching her arms, she thought about the rock landing into her palm. She flicked her finger up, and up, and up. She felt nothing. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, because she was so tired of failing.

Footsteps inched closer, and closer. She ignored how she could practically feel his presence, feel exactly where he stood in relation to her.

From behind her, he touched her shoulders, and dragged his hands to her elbows. His chest was on her back and his breath hot on her neck.

“Relax,” he said, soothingly. He brought her arms down, and she willingly let him maneuver her body.

He tugged on her wild, curly hair. Her neck craned backwards.

“Allow yourself to breathe,” he said, against her neck. Goosebumps freckled her skin.

Kamine released a deep breath. She had no idea what was happening, but she could already tell this wouldn’t work. Relaxing and breathing were horrible advice. She was trying to move a fucking rock, not sleep.

“Stop fucking thinking,” he demanded. His grip was tight on her waist, holding her still as she tried to pull away.

“I don’t understand how any of this is helpful.”

“You don’t have to understand. Just do as I say.”

“It’s not working.”

“Because you’re thinking.”

“That’s what a person with a brain does, they think.”

He sighed deeply, and let her go. She turned to him, and they were so close she could see his black eyes and the white veins scattered through them, like they were made of marble. “You need to trust me for this to work.”

Her mouth gaped open, but she shut it closed so hard that her teeth clanged together. “Trust? You assaulted me on my first day of class, how could I trust you?”

“Back to that excuse again?”

She pushed him, and he stumbled. His eyes became wide and hard, but after a moment, he brushed it off.

“I deserved that.”

“You deserve much worse,” she said.

He smiled devilishly, like he was proud of himself. “Glad to see your fight is back.”

Kamine didn’t know what he meant by that, but the way he held himself made it seem like he was goading her into her anger, that he had purposefully wound her up.

“Are we done?” she asked.

He threw a rock at her, and she didn’t have a chance to catch it before it hit her.

“Ouch,” Kamine rubbed her thigh.

“Worth a shot.”

“You’re a horrible teacher.”

“You’re a horrible student.”

She didn’t need to listen to him insulting her. She stormed away, but he grabbed her wrist.

“Meet me here tomorrow night.”

I’d rather die , Kamine thought, but gave him the response he was looking for. “Fine.”

A clap sounded from the entrance of the classroom.

“Such a gracious teacher,” Kestra said in a condescending tone. “I remember when you were just like that. Causing trouble, and refusing to back down.”

“What do you want, Kestra?” Grimot asked from his spot. The large room seemed to shrink with her presence. He had nowhere to hide or run off to either, since there was only one way out, and one way in.

Kestra smiled as she realized this. She stood in front of the door, daring him to try to leave.

Grimot picked up the book he had abandoned, holding it tight like a security blanket. Then, he weakened his grip, embarrassed that he needed protection from her.

“Is she why you refuse me?”

Grimot couldn’t stop the deep and breathy laugh that escaped him, so low in his gut that it could be mistaken for a growl. Kestra always had to find ways to make it about her. When Grimot first arrived at the school, he quickly learned that the monster rumored to prowl the tunnels was her. She sucked the blood from the students and kept returning for more, hungry and determined. For some reason, when her teeth sunk into him, she had difficulty letting go.

“Are you lost?” he asked, not entertaining her unfounded jealousy.

“She’s pretty,” she said, drawing closer to him now. Her short dress displayed her pale legs, ones that once wrapped around him while he sunk into her. “If you like someone who looks like a lost puppy, that is.”

“If you don’t actually need me for anything, then you can leave.” He tapped the book against his thigh, becoming more agitated with every passing second. He didn’t want to escalate anything, but if she touched him, then he would not hesitate to push her away.

“You’re so tense.”

“I’m tired,” he corrected.

She didn’t stop approaching him. He stepped backwards. It wasn’t that he was scared of her. It was that he didn’t know if he would want to stop if they started, and that truth scared him. He hadn’t been with anyone since her. For five years, it had been just his hands.

“I know how to wake you up,” she said, her lips popping on the last consonant. She caged him against the wall, her strong floral scent assaulting his senses.

“No.”

She stopped, almost as if that one word blew away the cloud of lust from her mind.

“Oh, good,” Headmaster Dritoria said, her coily hair framing her sharp face. “I was looking for you both.”

Kestra cleared her throat and backed away. Grimot sighed deeply, like breathing for the first time after drowning. Images of Kamine in that deep pool of water flashed before him, how lifeless her body was. He shook them away, recentering himself to the present.

“I wanted to speak about the logistics of the Heart. Grimot currently has it in his room for safekeeping, but Kestra, you’ll need to pray to the Weather Gods to tell you where to place it this year.” The Heart resided in his room because as a new professor, it was considered an initiation ritual to ensure he took on the role for the right reasons: the wellbeing of the Thunder Court. He stared at the amethyst gem regularly, each time being transported back to the moment he had touched it during his Undertaking.

Kestra and the Headmaster chatted, while Grimot did his best to seem engaged. Conversations about the Heart always made him uncomfortable. Everytime he walked into his room, he wanted to shatter it, but he now had a responsibility for its safekeeping. He would be damned if he let his emotions get in the way of accomplishing what he had set out to do.