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16

T he western wing library has become my sanctuary. Unlike the main library where many still study for more generic topics, this one is reserved for aspirants and above. It's older, with towering shelves that reach to vaulted ceilings and narrow windows that let in shafts of colored light. Ancient tomes are chained to the shelves, their spines cracked with age and use. The air smells of dust, parchment, and aged leather.

The only sounds are the occasional rustle of a page being turned or the scratch of a quill.

I've claimed a table in the furthest corner, hidden behind a shelf of texts on elemental taxonomy. It's late evening, and most students have already left for dinner. Perfect for reading more of my unbound book away from prying eyes. I’ve long since memorized and destroyed the key Bastian made for me, meaning it’s safe to read the book in slightly more public places.

Typhon lounges beside me in his dragon form, tail curled around the table's legs, wings tucked tight against his serpentine body. He lifts his head occasionally to scan for threats before returning to what I can only describe as a draconic nap.

"You should eat," he grumbles as my stomach makes an embarrassingly loud noise. "Human bodies are inconveniently fragile. Without food, you grow weak quickly."

"I will. After this section."

I'm close to a breakthrough with the book. The text is often impossibly dense, and I'm catching things on my second and third readthrough that I didn't on the first. Mostly, though, I read it every chance I can get because it’s my only source of information about what being unbound means. About what I am and the history of people like me.

Tonight, I’m reading about “manifestations” for the hundredth time. Supposedly, unbound can develop a unique, one-off kind of power independent of the affinities. Things like enhanced strength, making plants grow from nothing, matter manipulation, and even terrible things like the ability to pull the blood from people’s bodies with their mind.

These manifestations seem to be the reason humans eventually hunted down and exterminated unbound people. Apparently, Lorkan Grace manifested a power so terrible that people saw the existence of unbound as an existential threat. Worse, unbound can also tether people somehow, just like primals tether elementals. Lorkan was also said to have used the human tether for some nefarious purpose, but the book is vague on the specifics, so I’m rereading again for hopes of finding something I’ve missed.

After half an hour, I’m left with the same uncomfortable conclusion. No matter how many times I try to read it a different way, I can’t see another explanation. Unbound can tether people. Lorkan used this ability to make some kind of monstrous army that threatened civilization itself.

"I smell your fear," Typhon observes, rising to full alertness. "What troubles you?"

I hesitate. Typhon can always feel my thoughts, but I’ve learned it only happens if he’s trying to pay attention. At times, he seems to tune me out, like when I’m focusing on the book. He finds the subject upsetting for some reason and prefers not to talk with me about it. But maybe tonight he’ll be willing to help shed some light on it for me.

"The book. Can unbound tether themselves to other humans?"

Typhon's eyes narrow to slits. It's a few moments before he responds. "Yes. Lorkan Grace was the first to discover a quirk of this ability. Somehow, he was able to twist what had been a typical tether into something more like slavery. To pass fragments of his own manifestation to those he tethered, changing them into monstrosities and beasts he could command.”

"Monstrosities? What do you mean?”

"Creatures who walked the world as humans, but they fed on the life essence of human or elementals. I believe Lorkan used this essence to grant himself eternal life of some sort. As far as I know, he was never found or killed. It’s very possible he still lives, along with his creatures.”

"You didn't think this would be worth telling me?" I demand.

"You already think yourself a monster, angry human. I did not want to add fuel to the flames. The past of what people like you have done does not change you. I wanted you to have time to think on this before you knew more. Perhaps, with time, you can use your abilities for others as you did for me. To free them from madness.”

"Wait… you think I could do that for other rogue elementals?"

"Yes. Not now, but when you’re stronger. The elemental world suffers greatly from the rogue elementals. Especially the ancients, like me. You met the royal council on the day of your affinity trial. The leaders of elemental kind toil to find a way to stop the destruction of these rogues—to fight the madness slowly corrupting our strongest. You could be the key. I suspect it’s why they allowed you to live, even though unbound have the ability to cause true death to elementals.”

“Wait… true death?”

“Yes. With enough strength, unbound can draw an elemental completely dry. It’s the only way to truly kill us. To erase us from existence. Humans hunted your kind because they feared Lorkan’s creatures and his influence. My kind joined the fight because we feared the true death. But we paid deeply for our mistake. Without unbound, none can cleanse the madness slowly taking us.”

Before I can answer, a shadow falls across my table. I close the book and slip it out of view by instinct, hiding it in my lap.

"Late night reading?" Raith asks, voice low and rough. The fire markings of his affinity glow in the dim library light.

He carries a smell of woodsmoke on his body—a scent I've come to crave and enjoy.

I slip the unbound book into my bag, tucking it between more innocent texts. "Just research."

Raith's eyes follow my movement, but he doesn't comment. Instead, he slides onto the chair opposite me, his large frame making the wooden seat creak. "You missed dinner."

"I lost track of time."

His gaze flicks to Typhon, who has shifted to alert watchfulness. Raith is one of the few people Typhon regularly shows himself to, rather than remain invisible.

"Your dragon doesn't remind you to eat?"

"I have been telling her for hours that humans require regular sustenance," Typhon complains, forgetting Raith can't hear him.

"He tried," I admit. "But I was focused."

Raith reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. He unwraps it to reveal several thick slices of bread, cheese, and an apple. "Eat."

The simple command should irritate me, but my stomach growls loudly in response. "Thanks," I mutter, taking a slice of bread. I try to convince myself he just happened to be carrying food—that he didn't specifically go to the dining room and put together a meal for me.

I want to believe it, because the way my heart softens to think of him worrying and caring about me so much feels dangerous. There’s still so much I don’t know about Raith. And there’s the obvious divide between our affinities. He’s a fire. Even if the first-year fires feel like far less of a threat than my own affinity, I can’t ignore the things students whisper about the fires and earths.

There are always rumors of traitors among them. Students simply biding their time as they wait for commands from red kingdom. Commands to turn on us and sabotage our efforts.

Mostly, I think it’s all paranoia. But I have to admit the doubt lurks inside my own mind, too. And what would be more valuable to Red Kingdom than an unbound tethered to an ancient water dragon? If Raith was a spy for them, he’d likely be rewarded handsomely for delivering me on a silver platter.

But I don’t want to believe any of that. I admire Raith, whether I like it or not. And… I like how it feels when he’s with me.

We sit in companionable silence while I eat. This is how it often is between us—words unnecessary, the quiet somehow comfortable rather than awkward. I've learned more about Raith through his silences than his sparse conversation.

"Rector Voss wants to meet with you. I heard Primal Ryke say it."

I swallow a bite of bread. "Yeah…"

Raith's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "When?"

"Tomorrow at sunset."

He nods slowly, as if confirming something to himself. "I'll be nearby. During your meeting. Make a loud enough noise, and I'll come for you."

I stare. "I'm meeting with the Rector, Raith. What is it you think you'll do if I'm in trouble?"

Raith says nothing, but the fire in his eyes speaks volumes. He'll burn this place down if he has to. If that’s what it takes to keep me safe. And gods, I hate how my stomach flips from the knowledge.

"Someone approaches. The air child," Typhon's head swivels toward the library entrance.

I've grown used to Typhon's peculiar ways of referring to people. The "air child" can only be Bastian. Sure enough, moments later, Bastian's tall form appears between the shelves, moving directly toward us with purpose.

He looks as pristine as ever in his legacy uniform, golden hair pushed away from his broad forehead. But there's tension in his shoulders, a tightness around his eyes I haven't seen before.

"Ah. How convenient," Raith mutters, just loud enough for me to hear. "Your legacy admirer has impeccable timing."

I shoot him a warning look as Bastian reaches our table. The two have maintained an uneasy truce since Confluence Day, bound by their shared knowledge of my secret but clearly distrustful of each other's motives.

"Nessa," Bastian says with a nod. "Hollow." He acknowledges Raith with cool formality.

"Strathmore," Raith responds, equally frigid.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "What brings you to the library this late, Bastian?"

"I was looking for you, actually." He glances at Raith, then back to me. "I heard you've been selected for private instruction with Rector Voss."

"News travels fast," I say.

Bastian shifts, uncharacteristically hesitant. "May I speak with you? Privately?"

Raith doesn't move, his eyes fixed on Bastian with quiet challenge.

"Anything you have to say to her can be said in front of me," Raith states, voice deadly calm.

"Is that because you're too dense to comprehend it, or because you fancy yourself as some sort of guard dog?"

"Maybe come closer. Find out if I bite."

An unseen breeze drifts through the library, subtle but the threat is clear enough to make goosebumps rise on my arms. Bastian’s eyes seem to go whiter, unseeing as he stares at Raith.

The air around Raith shimmers and turns blurry with heat. His eyes darken, the gold catching with flecks of red as if they’re growing hotter.

"It's fine," I interject before they can go further than aggressively glaring. "Raith knows everything anyway."

Bastian's pale eyes widen slightly, then narrow. "Everything?"

"Enough," I confirm.

The choice of words earns a sharpening of the eyes from Raith, but he doesn't comment.

Bastian hesitates, then sits beside me, creating a triangle between us. His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Very well. Then I suppose it won’t hurt if he knows my father has been making inquiries about Voss. The Council is... concerned."

Raith's expression darkens. "About?"

"Disappearances. The number of deaths are closely monitored and reported at the academy, despite how it may have seemed when you were offerings. Deaths of aspirants and legacies are not something the academy or Empire takes lightly. Training accidents have to be explained. Consequences exist if too many are lost."

"And?" Raith presses.

Bastian carefully avoids looking at Raith, as if he's just speaking to me. "And there have been an unusual amount of deaths among students this year. Deaths of aspirants. Deaths of a few legacies. Older students. And the Rector has been… uncooperative when it comes to reporting the circumstances. Details aren't adding up."

Raith's eyes meet mine, and I know what he's thinking without him needing to say a word. Months ago, we overheard instructors talking about strange deaths. Deaths that had them talking about siphons, which seemed like pure fantasy to me at the time.

The bread in my stomach feels like lead. "And you're telling me this because...?"

"Because my father doesn't trust Voss. And neither should you." Bastian's eyes drop to the swirling patterns of my mark. "Especially you."

"He threatens us," Typhon growls, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Say the word, and I will remove this threat."

"No one is removing anyone," I respond silently. "Bastian is trying to warn us to be careful. He's looking out for us."

"Why? Why does the air child care about your welfare? I don't trust him. I'll eat him and his horse. Simply give me the word, angry human."

"What do you suggest I do?" I ask Bastian. "Refuse the summons? That would only draw more attention."

"Go," Bastian says. "But be careful what you reveal. Voss is... persuasive. People tend to tell him more than they intend."

"He's being deliberately vague," Raith says, his voice edged with frustration. "Either tell us what you know or stop wasting our time with cryptic warnings."

Bastian's composure cracks slightly. "I'm trying to help, Hollow. My father doesn't cast suspicion lightly. This meeting with the Rector could be incredibly dangerous for Nessa."

"I'll be careful," I promise Bastian. "Thank you for the warning."

He nods, rising to his feet. "Just... remember appearances can be deceiving. Voss is charming, intelligent, and utterly ruthless when it comes to achieving his goals." He hesitates, then adds, "If anything unusual happens, find me immediately."

After Bastian leaves, Raith and I sit in silence, the weight of his warning hanging between us.

"Do you trust him?" Raith finally asks.

"I don't know. But he's only telling me to be careful. I think I was going to do that either way."

Raith considers this, his scarred face thoughtful in the torchlight. "You're smart. Forget what Bastian says. Just follow your instincts. They've gotten you this far."

I smile at the compliments. Raith doesn't try, but he has a way of making me appreciate myself more. There's a no-nonsense way about him and a tendency to acknowledge strengths in others. He makes me believe his compliments when they come, and he never makes me question their intention. It’s easy to see why the fires practically worship him.

Serena is the only fire who seems to want him out of the way, but she knows she'll be torn to shreds if she makes a move against him and anyone discovers it. Like Malakai, I'm worried she's only waiting quietly for a rare moment of weakness—that she'll never stop watching and waiting.

I start gathering my books. "Thanks, Raith. I'll be careful. And I'll trust my instincts."

As I rise to leave, Raith catches my wrist. The contact sends a familiar rush of heat through me—partly his natural fire, partly something else entirely. My breath catches as his thumb traces a small circle on my pulse point.

"Be careful," he says, voice lower and rougher than before. "If anything feels wrong—anything at all—you get out of there. Promise me."

The power in his eyes makes my heart stutter. For all his gruffness, all his careful distance, there's something in the way he's looking at me now that makes my skin flush and my pulse race.

"I promise."

He releases my wrist slowly, his fingers trailing along my skin. "Remember. I'll be waiting somewhere nearby tomorrow. Just in case."

"I don't need a bodyguard, Raith."

His lips curve in a rare half-smile that transforms his face. "Not your call, Saltcrest. I'll be there."

The simple words send warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with elemental magic. Before I can respond, he stands and collects his things.

"Tomorrow at sunset, then," he says.

I nod, suddenly unable to find words.

As we part ways at the library door, I glance back to see him watching me go, his expression impossible to read in the shadows. Something has shifted between us tonight—something subtle but undeniable. And as I make my way back to my room, I can still feel the phantom heat of his fingers against my skin, like a promise or a warning.