Page 45

When His Skin Meets Mine

“ T rust me,” says Kathraanis. “It’s for your own good.”

“But why?—”

“Can we at least step in a few elf-lengths?”

“Sometimes I need to go in to fetch things.”

“No,” Kathraanis says firmly. “You aren’t to go in there anymore. Not at night.”

“But—”

“If anything changes, I’ll let you know. Until then, I want you to stay within the grounds after dark. That’s all. Thank you.”

We sit in a wide half-circle on the grass in Nimuala. The other apprentices stand in line, ready to face each other in pairs. But not me. Not yet. And for that, I’m grateful.

The sun blazes down, just as it does every other day, sending prickles of heat across my skin. The animals have retreated into the shade in desperation. A lone palm tree stands nearby, its slender shadow alive with the chatter of capuchin monkeys.

Netharu’el sits among the spectators beside a woman I don’t recognize. Her hair, a striking royal blue, is pulled into a tight braid at the nape of her neck.

“Ipjgepaleg,” someone hisses, shoving me. A fellow apprentice with his hair twisted into a strange knot. I don’t know his name.

“Shut up,” I mutter, barely paying attention. My body is wrecked from days of training. Every inch of me protests: biceps, calves, wrists, shoulders. That’s the only reason I haven’t gotten up and walked away. Yet.

The fights begin. They’re good. Better than I am. If this is the standard, how will I ever measure up?

I sigh and drag my fingertips through the dirt, staining them a dull brown. Swirling, thoughtless patterns take shape, shifting, vanishing beneath my touch. I don’t even look up.

“Iszaelda.”

Kathraanis settles beside me. Her legs are wrapped in snug brown breeches, with worn leather guards protecting her knees.

They look stifling in the heat. A strip of cloth binds her chest, leaving her ribs and stomach bare, while a cloak black as the night pools around her as she sits.

She presses her gloved hands into the grass, the leather creaking softly.

Black bracers wrap her forearms, battle-ready.

Straps and buckles drown her waist, heavy with sheathed daggers that thud softly against the ground. Her red eyes gleam.

“Kathraanis.” I nod.

“Well met.” She offers a faint smile, her grip firm as she squeezes my shoulder. A shiver runs through me. “How’re you holding up? Is Netharu’el proving to be a capable instructor?”

Netharu’el speaks to the woman beside him, his lips moving fast, words spilling out. What are they talking about?

“He’s… very good.”

“That’s reassuring.” Kathraanis finally releases me. “I heard about the incident with the Caspian fire dragon. Unfortunate, of course.”

Netharu’el laughs, loud and carefree. The woman laughs too, resting a hand on his thigh. Slowly, her fingers trail upward. Unconscious? Or intentional?

“I hope you’ll be able to compete in the next trial,” Kathraanis says. “What do you think?”

“When is it?”

“In two mooncrescents.”

“You’ll have to ask Netharu’el. He’s the one who decides.”

The woman moves her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then places it back, this time around Netharu’el’s neck. He leans in, whispering something against her ear.

“No, I decide,” Kathraanis corrects. “If I want you in the trial, you’ll be there. You need to practice before the final tests to assess your performance. It’s crucial, and?—”

“Kathraanis, who’s that woman?” I cut in, pointing.

“That’s Araytha Niy’ah of Telran, one of the masters. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just curiosity.” I turn my gaze to hers. “When are you going to tell me who I resemble? And why I’m not allowed to leave the Academy?”

She recoils as if I have insulted her, lips pressing into a thin line. “This isn’t the time.”

“Then when is?” My nails dig into the dirt. “When will I finally know the truth?”

A pause. “It’s not my decision.” Another pause. “But… we could make a deal.”

“I’m listening.”

“Prove we were right to take you in. Show us you have what it takes. Pass the final trials—not just pass but surpass everyone else—and I’ll tell you everything.”

“You can’t be serious. The best in?—”

“I have to go.” She rises smoothly. “It was good to see you, Iszaelda. I’m glad to hear you’re doing well. Until we meet again.”

“Until we meet again,” I mutter, watching as she weaves through the crowd. As she passes Vaast, she stops, resting a hand on his shoulder, fingers lingering.

He looks up as she leans in, whispering something into his ear before moving on. After a few songs, Vaast rises and follows in the same direction.

In the ring, Acranta fights a man I recognize but don’t know by name. They’re skilled. Watching them fills me with dread. No one in Parae was this good.

Netharu’el and Araytha sit close, their bodies angled toward each other. She grins, and so does he. He’s beautiful when he smiles, his eyes shining as he looks at that wretched woman. Not once has he looked at me.

Acranta is occupied. No one will notice if I leave. I push myself up, slipping past the seated elves.

“Watch it, Ipjgepaleg!”

“Ow!”

Scalding glares burn into my back as I approach the tree line slowly and hesitantly, as if I don’t know where I’m going, as if I’m lost. I can’t afford to look too sure; that would raise suspicion.

I pass the chattering monkeys. One by one, they fall silent, turning their dark eyes on me. They’re watching, wary, ensuring I won’t get too close. Their sun-warmed fur carries a musky scent, thick in the heat.

When I reach the tree line, I glance over my shoulder. Everyone is turned away. Good.

Everyone except… Netharu’el.

His eyes are sharp, dark, and unreadable. He isn’t just watching me. He’s studying me as if trying to decipher what I’m doing and why I’m leaving. The woman beside him is speaking, but he doesn’t acknowledge her.

He only sees me.

I slip into Gorgoroth’s shadows and disappear from his sight. Then I run. The ground is uneven beneath my feet, a brittle layer of twigs and dry leaves snapping under my feet. Cool soil squeezes between my toes, untouched by the sun.

The air is thick and heavy. Each breath feels like drowning. Humidity clings to my skin, slick and suffocating, like a second layer I can peel away from myself.

I no longer have to be silent. My footsteps dissolve into the rainforest’s symphony, the screech of cockatoos, the wind hissing through tangled lianas.

Then… whispers.

I slow, slipping into the dense undergrowth, vanishing beneath broad cabbage palms, passionfruit vines, satsel leaves, and philodendrons.

I hold my breath. Close my eyes. Listen. Focus. Just as Netharu’el taught me.

I silence the rainforest’s endless hum, narrowing in on a single thread of sound. Voices. Star elf voices.

“This is, of course, highly important,” Kathraanis says, her voice weighted with concern. “We should inform Merediath so she can make an informed decision.”

“You’re tormenting yourself… needlessly.”

“That’s not true.”

“She’ll, inevitably, be… most displeased if you summon her back for… this triviality. She’s needed in Caspian.”

Vaast’s voice is rough, with each word spoken slowly and deliberately. He enunciates carefully, as if tasting every syllable before letting it go, stretching every “s” like an afterthought.

Still, Kathraanis allows him to finish before she speaks again.

“You don’t understand. You have no idea how serious this could be. How many sun cycles have passed since we last saw a dragon here?

“Gorgoroth is full of dragons.”

“Not in this part. They stay in the north.”

“It’s not impossible… that a dragon has accidentally flown here. Lost its way. These are new times, Kathraanis-s.”

“There’s only one explanation for this.”

“You’re… wrong.”

“He must be near, Vaast. There’s no other possibility. And we’re vulnerable. If we suspect Mesmigli is close, we must call for reinforcements.”

Akares is here?

“You know what I… believe. Wait. And if it happens again, perhaps informing Merediath would be worth considering. But not before. Regardless… she’ll return for the final trials.”

“That’s still many mooncrescents away.”

“As I s-said, do as you will. But you know what I… believe.”

I open my eyes. The voices have risen.

Footsteps. Kathraanis and Vaast pass by the bushes, a half-elf-length apart.

Vaast drifts closer and closer to her. His hair, the deep blue of storm-lit waters, swirls in the air, catching the light as he moves.

His rigid clothes, dark and earth-toned, cling to him like armor.

But it’s the ring on his finger that catches my attention.

The band is polished black, solid, forged from an unyielding material.

Despite its small surface, it’s detailed with intricate, twisting patterns and dark etchings that spiral like hidden engravings.

At its center gleams a stone, amaranth red, rich and luminous, as if holding an ember at its core.

It reminds me of Kathraanis’s and Yesira’s eyes.

“I will, of course, consider it,” Kathraanis says, never once making eye contact.

She shouldn’t listen to him. If she believes Merediath should be informed, she should act accordingly.

But there’s something about Vaast, his slow, measured voice, his calculated movements. Too controlled. I know I don’t trust him. Not at all. I know that?—

A hand clamps over my mouth, hot against my lips.

I bite down. Hard. I twist, thrash, and roll, breaking free, only to become ensnared in the thorns. My hair catches, yanking me back. I kick, claw, and fight against the tangle, panic clawing up my throat.

What’s happening? Who’s here? How?—

“Bel eh ve,” hisses a dark voice.

Strong hands seize my waist, holding me firm as the thorns release their grip on my hair. I’m yanked from the underbrush and pressed to the ground.

I stare into Netharu’el’s eyes, his warm hair brushing against my face.

He followed me.

“Let me go!”

“What are you doing, Iszaelda? Spying on Kathraanis?”

“No!”

“Then what?”

I scowl. “Sewing a dress, cooking a feast, eating cake. What do you think I’m doing in the forest?”

He lets go, rolling onto his back beside me. Only a few scattered leaves separate our hands.

“What did they say?”

“And how in the fires would I know?”

I stare at the jungle canopy, an endless snarl of branches and vines, shifting restlessly. The sky is lost behind the tangle, a living surface that never stills. Leaves ripple as howler monkeys swing between them, shrieking and cackling, their tails wild.

Their laughter merges with the jungle’s unrelenting chorus, sharp, eager, furious, and alive. The air is thick with sound, voices overlapping, rising and falling. Louder than Valeanrae. Compared to this, that forest was a graveyard.

“A remarkable attempt, my dear,” Netharu’el hisses. “But I don’t believe you.”

A few leaves drift between us, wide as our bodies, momentarily stealing what little sunlight pierces Gorgoroth’s dense canopy. The flickering rays vanish as quickly as they appear.

“That’s your choice.” I tilt my head. “So how was your talk with Araytha? Are you sharing a meal at dusk?”

He chuckles low, his shoulder brushing mine. “And why would we do that?”

“You seemed to be getting along well. Didn’t you?”

“We were.” He leans onto his elbow, watching me with that familiar, crooked smile.

“What?”

“Are you jealous again?”

I scoff. “I’d have to care about you for that, wouldn’t I? So no, sorry to disappoint. I just want you to focus on my training, nothing more.”

“So you don’t care for me?” His eyes gleam with feigned sorrow, as if my answer might wound him. But I see through it. Through him. He doesn’t care what I think.

“You already know I don’t. And you don’t care for me either. That’s no secret.”

He runs a hand along my jaw, brushing away some dirt. The wind catches his hair, sending it swirling around his face. “That’s not it.”

“Lucky for us, in just a few mooncrescents, we’ll be rid of each other for good.”

“Delightful.”

“So why did you follow me?”

“I had a feeling you were up to something.” His fingers trace the curve of his horns, teasing, provoking. Testing me.

Why do I want to touch them? I don’t understand. They’re just horns, not some extraordinary weapon.

“And how exactly did you come up with that idea? I thought you were busy with Araytha.”

Brilliant. Another unnecessary comment flying out of my mouth. For all the fires, I need to start thinking before I speak.

Netharu’el finally lowers his hands from his horns, and I breathe a little easier.

“I keep track of everything you do, of course.”

“Right. It isn’t unsettling at all. You do realize you sound like a deranged stalker?”

He smiles, lips full and soft. A leaf drifts down, landing just behind him. “It’s my job to keep an eye on you. Every time I’ve let you out of my sight, you’ve managed to get yourself into trouble.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, but it is. I’ve realized I need to stay close to you all day and night. It’s the only way to ensure you don’t accidentally kill yourself.”

“What’s next? Holding my hand while I sleep?” The question is meant to be sarcastic, but the thought sends a strange flutter through me.

“Perhaps. That way, I can protect you from your nightmares, too.”

“Great. Let’s do that, then.” I smile, and it feels natural, like the expression belongs on my face, as if it has always been there. Strange.

Sesta! What am I doing?

“Anyway,” he says, shifting slightly. “That reminds me.”

“Of what?”

“The constant surveillance will have to wait. I need to leave soon. I’ll be gone for several days. Something urgent has come up.”

“Again?” My stomach twists. Why do I feel… disappointed?

“That’s right.”

“Why—”

“I expect you to run the field daily and practice sword fighting blindfolded.”

“Seriously?” I groan. “The blindfold? Again?”

“There are training dummies in Nimuala’s western quarter.”

“I don’t like them.”

“You’ll train at least four daytimes each day.”

“That’s more than usual.”

“If you need assistance, ask Vaast. He’s more than willing to help.”

“And what about you?” I mutter. “Why do you have to leave?”

“I can’t tell you that. I have obligations outside the Academy that require my attention. That’s all I can disclose.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Disclose?”

“You’re a clever elf. You know what it means.”

“But who’s going to hold my hand tonight?”

What in Saxx’s name did I say? How did that slip out?

I need to get a grip.

Netharu’el chuckles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from my forehead. “You’ll have to pretend. Who knows? Maybe you’ll dream of me instead.”

“Maybe.” I blink.

He rises, dusting himself off before offering me his hand. I hesitate, then take it, a shiver running through me as his skin meets mine.

Together, we make our way back to the Academy.