Page 17

15

T wo months after Confluence Day, and I still sometimes do a double take when I see myself in the black aspirant uniform trimmed in silver. My hair is getting longer, but I keep it braided close and tight. Otherwise, opponents will use it against me in the sparring ring.

The tanned skin I had my whole life from days on the waters has faded to be more pale. My lean, wiry frame has filled out, too. Now, when I look at myself, I can actually see… a warrior. Someone strong. Someone who might have handled the way things happened in Saltcrest differently. Would the person I’m becoming just hang her head and let my sister and mother ignore me? Would she accept all the blame for something she couldn’t control?

I’m still not sure, but I can feel I’m changing. Hardening.

I lean closer, inspecting my eyes. They’re a deep blue like most water affinities, but they’ve always been. The change is when I look close enough, there are flecks of silver, like the reflection of stars across the sea at night. I have no doubt the silver is from my unbound affinity. Nobody has mentioned them, and I hope it stays that way.

I move away from the mirror and snatch up my practice rapier, strapping it to my hip for easy access. I train with it every day, and unlike my first few weeks here at Confluence, I rarely go to sleep aching or bruised anymore. I might even go as far as to say I'm getting pretty damn good with the thing.

"Better than good," Typhon notes.

I smile at him. When he's not being stuffy and cranky, he's actually pretty supportive. He’s currently sunning himself by the morning light coming through my window in one of his many forms—this one a thick salamander the size of a large dog.

My new aspirant room is three times the size of the one I shared with Mireen, with a private bathroom that has actual hot water on demand. I have my own desk, a small window overlooking the central courtyard, and enough space that Typhon can stretch out in his dragon form without knocking things over—though he seems to prefer showing off how many forms he can take.

My uniform is sleeveless, letting my arms—which are now more toned than they've ever been in my life—show. Aspirants and legacies get the privilege of a little more wardrobe flexibility than we had as offerings. We have dress uniforms, thicker padded uniforms for cold days, and light, sleeveless uniforms for heavy training days or heat. Even the quality of the underwear we’re given is significantly improved, and thank the fucking gods for that.

The last significant change of the past months has been my unbound mark. When I’m alone in my room and relax the slight focus needed to keep it disguised, I can see how it has grown. Threads of silver like constellations have grown outward from the back of my hand. They reach halfway up my fingers and curl around my wrist like an intricate tattoo.

“A growing mark is a sign of a strengthening tether,” Typhon reminds me. “It should be a source of pride. It’s a visible indication of how impressive we are.”

“Yeah, well… unlike some ancient water dragons, I try my best not to seem impressive.”

"I do not try to be impressive. I simply am."

I smile as I lace up my boots and pour a trickle of focus into my mark. I watch as the silver swirl shifts and changes, turning blue and taking the shape of a wave like a normal water affinity. "Coming to tether class today?"

"I would sooner bathe in fire than spend another day pretending to be a fish while you toss blobs of water at targets. But yes. I will come, because I still do not trust Malakai or his small fish companion."

"It's more like a terrifying flying shark that looks like it wants to eat everybody."

"To me, it is insignificant. If that creature came within a foot of you, I would bite it in half and bathe in its blood."

I turn, narrowing my eyes. "We don’t want to do anything to draw his attention again.”

"I do not like the fear you feel when you're around Malakai. You are my tethered, angry human. I will not let any harm come to you, and you should be able to relax and focus on your studies with this truth."

"Thank you, Typhon. I know… it's just hard to ever really let my guard down here. The deaths did drop way off like Voss said, but I can see it in Malakai's eyes. It's like he's just waiting for the right moment."

"I believe your fire touched lover will also dissuade him from trying to harm you. The other students here seem to fear the fire touched. I must admit I admire his power. For a nearly worthless human, he's rather less unimpressive than usual."

"Did you just compliment another human, Typhon?"

"No," Typhon's response carries such regal indignation that I laugh aloud.

"And he's not my lover. He helps me with training from time to time. And he's keeping an eye on Serena for me while I keep an eye on Malakai. It's a mutually beneficial relationship. That's it."

"Relationship. Yes. This is what humans call it when they perform intercourse."

I put my hands on my hips and stare at him. To his credit, he keeps his dragony face pointed toward the window, refusing to acknowledge me. "For somebody who is in my head twenty-four hours a day, I shouldn't have to tell you nothing has ever happened between us."

"As someone who is always in your head, I sometimes find myself confusing your dreams and reality. So, you'll excuse me if the numerous fantasy encounters where you two are very naked and very entwined are clouding my memories."

"Typhon… I swear to the gods. I will ? —"

He transforms suddenly into his flying fish form, rounded eyes regarding me coolly. "We should leave. You will be late for class if you don't begin walking soon.”

With a sigh, I head out into the hall with my rapier feeling like a comfort at my hip. We're still not allowed to carry sharpened weapons around campus, but they do let us take our practice weapons anywhere we go, now. Raith offered to start privately training me a few weeks ago. To my mild frustration, he treats the lessons with complete professionality.

He’s a patient, skilled, and highly effective teacher. And absolutely nothing else. No mentions of the things we went through together. No implication that he sees me as anything except someone else to protect. It has felt like the emotional equivalent of having a door slammed in my face.

But if nothing else, the training is useful, and it’s helping me become one of the most capable duelists in our affinity.

I also finished reading the entire unbound book weeks ago, but now I've been spending my nights re-reading passages to be sure I haven't missed anything. But the contents of the books have made it hard for me to look Bastian in the face. He knows what I am. What I really am. He knows what I'm capable of becoming, and the harm I could bring not just to myself but to all of the combined kingdoms and even the elemental plane.

At times, I feel like a monster, and I hate that Bastian knows. Except I can't figure out why he's keeping it quiet. If he had even the slightest doubt about my character, he would go to the nearest authority and make a case to have me executed.

"No one will execute you, angry human. I would bite their heads off and drink the marrow from their bones if they tried."

I grin to myself. "Thanks, Typhon. That's… sweet?”

By the time I reach tether class, I'm running late. The massive blue doors swing shut behind me as I slip into the cavernous, circular room. Students are already working on their magic as our instructor, Primal Ryke, paces the room with his muscular arms tucked behind his back, hands clasped around his wrists.

"Late again, Thorne," he notes, deep blue eyes regarding me.

"Sorry," I say, slipping into the room.

Mireen spots me from across the room and waves. Her braid whips around as she directs Ollie, her water otter, in a synchronized attack with her own water daggers. The elemental's form has grown more substantial over the months—less transparent, more defined, with deeper blue coloring. He zips through the air, slashing at training dummies that crumble under the water's pressure.

Primal Ryke prowls between pairs, occasionally demonstrating forms with his own elemental—a graceful water crane that towers over him when it stretches its wings.

Training with our elementals takes several forms. Some classes are theoretical, and some school us on the little bits of elemental history humans are privy to. This class is about learning to fight along with our elementals in combat. Some students hack at training dummies while others fight in sparring matches, combining what we know of weapons training with elemental combat.

"Nessa," Primal Ryke says as he approaches me. "Where is Oceanus?"

"He's... going to appear soon," I say, earning a few smirks from nearby students. The "flying fish" story has become something of a running joke among first-years.

Ryke nods toward the far side of the room where Beck and Ambrose are teaming up to obliterate a pair of wooden training dummies. Uther is clawing chunks out of one while Akaron uses watery talons to slash out where the eyes would be. "Join your friends for combat practice."

I maneuver through the pairs of students, dodging streams of water and the occasional errant elemental. The room smells of clean stone and the faint ozone scent that accompanies channeled magic. High windows let in shafts of winter sunlight that catch on the droplets of water hanging in the air, turning them to prisms.

"Someone's late," Beck teases as I approach. Uther, his water bear, rears up on hind legs beside him. The elemental has grown in size since Confluence Day, now standing slightly taller than Beck even when he’s standing on all fours.

"Typhon was being difficult," I mutter.

Ambrose adjusts his glasses, which he somehow manages to keep dry despite the water flying everywhere. "Fascinating. The connection between elemental mood and tether strength is still understudied, but my theory is?—"

"Save the lecture," Beck interrupts. "Let's see if Nessa can finally best me."

I draw my rapier, feeling its familiar weight. Two months of constant training have built muscle memory I never thought possible. "Didn't I win last week? And like six times before that?”

Beck grins and channels water into a swirling shield before him. "Hm. I don't seem to recall ever losing to you."

“It’s Beck’s secret weapon,” Ambrose says. “Weaponized stupidity.”

“He’s right,” Beck says. “I am a weapon. Just like Ambrose said.”

“That’s… not at all what I meant. I was saying?—”

“Blah blah,” Beck says. “We got it. I’m a living weapon. Deadly as I am handsome. Now come on, Nessa. Let’s see if you can finally beat me.”

I center myself, focusing on the moisture in the air. Drawing from the environment rather than from myself has become easier with practice. Bits and pieces from the unbound book along with Typhon's knowledge of unbound status have massively accelerated my progress.

Normal water affinities push the water from within themselves.

For me, it's the opposite. I extend my awareness outward, drawing from sources beyond myself. Moisture in the air, gusts of wind, the stored potential in the stone beneath my feet, and the bits of heat in human bodies or torches all work. Except I only ever channel water when others are watching for obvious reasons. My biggest advantage is versatility, but while I’m posing as a water affinity, I’m forced to stick to only water.

In other words, everybody else in this room has a reservoir of power the size of a lake and I’m drawing from something more like a bathtub. But the limitations have made me more precise. More strategic. The others waste power while I make use of every drop of essence I can grab.

We circle each other as Ambrose and Mireen back away to give us room. Beck moves first, sending a wave of water rushing toward me like a battering ram. I sidestep, using a pulse of energy from my palm to disperse it. The water falls to the ground in harmless drops.

Drawing more moisture from the air, I form three spinning discs of water and launch them in quick succession. Beck blocks the first two with his shield, but the third catches him in the shoulder, knocking him back and sending him twisting through the air like a ragdoll.

Uther slips under him, cushioning his fall with his watery back.

"Not bad," Beck admits, sliding off Uther with a grateful pat on the beast's head. He shakes water from his sandy blonde hair.

I'm about to respond when I feel a familiar prickle at the back of my neck. I turn slightly, just enough to confirm my suspicion.

Raith stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. Even from across the room, I can feel the heat of his attention on me as he tracks my movements. His affinity mark has grown more than anyone in the first years. Lines of red-orange trail up his thick forearms and reach the bottom of his left bicep in a way that’s admittedly… nice.

Our eyes meet briefly, and a ghost of a smile touches his lips before his expression returns to its usual stoic mask. It's been like this for weeks now—him appearing at the edges of wherever I am, watching, assessing. Keeping his promise to protect me, but maintaining a careful distance in public.

The private training sessions are different. Twice a week, we meet in an abandoned training room in the eastern wing. There, he's been teaching me how to use my size and speed to my advantage, how to fight opponents twice my strength, how to survive. His hands adjust my stance, his voice low and rough as he corrects my form, his body close enough that I can feel his unnatural heat.

But it's always professional. Always clinical. There's never idle conversation, and as far as I can tell, his one and only purpose is to make sure I can defend myself better.

I force my attention back to Beck just in time to dodge a water whip aimed at my legs. “Too busy drooling to defend, huh?”

"Shut up," I say, glaring as I pull my attention from Raith.

My momentary distraction costs me. Beck's next attack catches me in the chest, drenching me from neck to waist.

We're all able to put force behind our attacks, but being a water carries the advantage of letting us practice with relatively harmless spells when we want. In a real fight, Ryke has been teaching us how to sharpen each droplet of water, turning an otherwise harmless splash into a deadly blade that can cleave through flesh and bone.

But Beck's attack is nothing more than cold water splashing and soaking me as it connects.

I pull the water from my clothing. Droplets magically wick from the fabric, my skin, and my hair, drifting in front of my body in a wall of droplets. With a thought, I reach into each droplet and reshape them into inch-long needles.

"Hey now, that's—" Beck starts, but I gesture, and the needles fly toward him.

They form an outline, punching pinprick holes in the loose points of his clothing but not even scratching him. He looks behind and sees the needles stuck in the stone wall, then looks down at his clothes and pulls his sleeve out. Dozens of little holes let the light through.

"Gods, Nessa," Beck says, grinning. "You're scary as hell."

As I release the water needles, letting them splash to the ground, I feel another presence behind me. Not Raith this time.

"Impressive control, Thorne," Primal Ryke says, his voice cool but not unkind. "For someone who could barely form a sphere two months ago, your progress is... noteworthy."

Coming from Ryke, this is practically effusive praise. I duck my head, unused to compliments from instructors. "Thank you."

He studies me for a moment, head tilted. "Your channeling has a unique signature. Almost as if..." He trails off, then straightens. "The Rector mentioned… well, never mind. Just report to his office tomorrow at sunset. And don't be late for once."

Report to the fucking Rector’s office? Holy shit… Ryke gives the order almost casually, but there’s nothing casual about the command.

The Rector doesn’t interact with students or our daily life here. So what the hells did I just do to get put on his notice? I can already feel my palms sweating and my breath coming quick at the idea, but I try to pretend I’m calm as I nod to Ryke.

"I do not like this," Typhon notes.

"Agreed."

I catch Beck and Ambrose exchanging a look as Primal Ryke walks away.

"Private meeting with Rector Voss," Beck whispers, wiggling his eyebrows. "Sounds... intense."

"Stop it," Mireen says, shoving him. "It's probably nothing. And Nessa is getting really good. Better than most of us. They're probably just wanting to help along a student with so much potential. Maybe he wants to talk about putting her in a more advanced class, or something."

I smile, but there's a tight ball of worry in my chest.

Attention. This is exactly what I've been trying to avoid for so long. A one on one with the Rector himself is… concerning to say the least. I think about slipping out of class to tell Raith and ask his opinion, but when I look toward the doorway where he stood, I see he's gone.

All that's left is the lingering heat of where I felt his gaze on my skin and the tendrils of fear spreading through my insides.

Tomorrow, I'll meet with Rector Voss, and I'll hope like hells he's not about to interrogate me about Typhon or my affinity. If he so much as suspects what I am, the “meeting” could be more like an execution.