Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
His eyes lock with mine with an intensity that sends shivers cascading down my spine. Then he smiles again and the moment evaporates. "Trust is a luxury of the powerful. There's your answer. Continue developing your strength and you will earn the luxury of trust. You will trust because you will fear no one. Now, return to your room before darkness falls completely. There are monsters in the shadows, after all." He says this with a playful twist of his lips, but his words feel like ice-cold fingers on my neck all the same.
As I make my way back to my quarters, I can't shake the feeling that Voss is testing me. That behind his wisdom and apparent honesty, he's measuring my reactions, determining whether I'm capable of something more.
What that something might be, I have no idea.
25
Blood streaks my training blade and drips from my fingertips, spattering against the stone floor in bright red drops.
"Shit, Nessa. I'm so sorry." Beck's face looms over me, his brow furrowed with concern as he offers his hand. "I didn't mean to actually cut you."
I cradle my arm where his blunted practice sword has somehow managed to carve a bloody gash across my upper arm. The wound stings like acid as blood wells up between my fingers.
"I'm just impressed you managed to finally land a hit on me," I say through clenched teeth before accepting his outstretched hand. My sleeve soaks with crimson as I get to my feet.
Mireen moves closer to inspect my wound. "If you die from this, I'm taking your good boots," she says with a straight face. When Beck looks appalled, she rolls her eyes. "Relax. It's a compliment—her boots are the only thing worth inheriting."
We've claimed one of the many hidden training areas scattered across campus. Technically, I think they’re meant as spare classrooms. Confluence used to house far more students each year, but the numbers have dwindled over the centuries, meaning the castle is full of unused spaces that collect dust. Or rather, spaces that would collect dust if students weren't taking advantage.
Our walk to this place from the water tower had us passing dozens of closed doors and the muffled sounds of students clashing in training matches. That, and the distinctive scent of ozone permeating the air signaling the heavy use of magic across campus.
The Crucible is coming fast, and everybody knows it.
Beck and Ambrose are leaning in, staring at the wound. We’ve all seen plenty of wounds by now, and we’re relatively desensitized. But this cut is bleeding heavily, and it looks pretty deep. I may need stitches and be forced to chew the horrible herbs they give at the healers to prevent infection. If I’m truly unlucky, they’ll make me chew up the herbs and stuff them into the wound.
"We're going to have to start making you practice with Uther instead, Beck," Mireen says, moving closer to inspect my wound. As she bends down, something small and gray peeks out from her pocket, whiskers twitching. She casually tucks it back in with practiced ease, not missing a beat. "I think you've drawn enough blood for one day."
Ollie dips closer to my wound, his liquid body rippling with concern.
Beck looks genuinely distraught, his sandy hair falling across his eyes as he shakes his head. His massive bear elemental Uther materializes behind him, mimicking Beck's posture of contrition. "Fucking hell, I'm sorry, Nessa. You're so damn slippery and fast. I think I was swinging harder than I realized just trying to catch you before you could dodge, and—"
"It's not as bad as it looks," I lie. The pain screams otherwise.
Ambrose adjusts his glasses with a professorial air. "Technically, practice blades can develop burrs if they're used enough. You probably caught her with a worn edge."
His water hawk Akaron perches on his shoulder, head tilted as if examining my wound from a distance. Like many of the elementals, Akaron has grown more substantial over the months, his watery form more detailed, more predatory. The temperament matches Ambrose's increasingly analytical approach to everything around him.
"Hmm," Ambrose continues, suddenly intrigued. He takes my arm gently, turning it to examine the cut. "The blade created a perfect bisection of the dermal layer, but the subdermal tissues remain largely intact. That's good."
I pull my arm back. "Glad my pain is academically stimulating."
"Sorry," he mumbles. "I've been doing some extra studying on anatomy and your wound is more informative than the sketches in my books." He takes a step back, but his eyes don't leave my wound.
A burning sensation spreads through my arm. Not just pain—something else. Heat flowing beneath my skin, gathering at the injury site.
"Interesting, angry human," Typhon's voice rumbles through my mind.
"What?" I wince as the burning intensifies. It feels like someone is holding dozens of candle flames just beneath my arm and they're inching closer. It's nearly unbearable, but...