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)
And all I have to do is keep it to myself.
18
"You're outnumbered three-to-one. The enemy has the high ground on this ridgeline here with established fortifications. What's your plan?" Instructor Pilton's voice cuts through the Military Tactics classroom, his single arm gesturing emphatically at the large map pinned to the front wall.
Two days have passed since my meeting with Voss, and I still can't shake the unusual lightness in my chest. The knowledge that the Rector of Confluence knows what I am, understands it, and doesn't want me dead… to call it a relief would be an understatement. Tomorrow evening, I'll meet with him again for my first official mentoring session. With any luck, I might even manifest my power during our meeting.
Considering my unbound manifestation could be absolutely anything, my mind has been constantly wandering with possibilities. Mostly, though, I just hope it’s not something terrible—something like what Lorkan Grace manifested.
I drag my attention back to the map, studying the scenario Pilton has laid out. The classroom is arranged in tiers, with legacies at the front in comfortable chairs, aspirants behind them in decent seating, and until recently, offerings crammed at the back on hard benches. Now that we're all aspirants, the class feels less stratified, though old habits die hard. Most former offerings still cluster toward the back, myself included. Little by little, we’ve mingled with those who started as aspirants, but it’s slow progress. For the most part, cliques and groups of trust already formed before Confluence Day, and we’re still seen as outsiders.
A legacy in the front row—a tall, thin air with white-blonde hair—suggests sacrificing a portion of his forces for a distraction so the rest of the squadron can get behind the enemy for a surprise attack. Pilton immediately launches into a critique of the approach, his bushy eyebrows drawing together as he paces.
"You could solve this tactical problem easily," Typhon notes dryly in my mind. "One ancient water dragon could eliminate their entire force without complex maneuvering."
"Not helpful," I mutter under my breath.
"Miss Thorne," Pilton calls suddenly, making me straighten. The damn man misses nothing. "You seem to have strong opinions on this matter. Care to share your approach with the class?"
All eyes turn to me, and heat floods my face like I've stuck my head in an oven.
Mireen covers a smile beside me. She knows I hate being called on in class. Ambrose just looks jealous as he lowers his raised hand. Beck is picking something out of his teeth, feet kicked up on the chair in front of him.
After a moment of hesitation, I say what I was already thinking in response to his question. "There's a river to the south. Water primals could use it to create enough fog to get earth and fire primals on top of the enemy before they knew what was coming. Earths could use the cover to raise a wall behind the enemy, then airs could could blast away the fog, letting the fires come in with clear view to destroy the enemy in close range.
Pilton's eyebrows rise slightly, his perpetual scowl easing. "Utilizing elemental strengths in combination. Not entirely without merit." From him, the gruff words are quite the compliment.
As attention shifts back to the front, I sense eyes still on me. I glance sideways to find Bastian watching from his seat among the legacies, his nearly white eyes thoughtful. He offers the slightest nod of approval before turning back to the lesson.
Malakai is watching me, too. Despite warnings that we're not supposed to openly kill one another, he hasn't stopped acting like the commander of a small force of elites within the water first-years. He sits surrounded by a small group of eight muscular, intimidating waters.
So far, he hasn't spoken to anyone about Typhon's true form that I know of, but I can feel the threat of his knowledge hanging over me daily. That, and the obvious possibility that he's going to find a moment when I least suspect it to come for me again. Or Raith.
As stupid and irrational as it is, the idea of him or Serena trying to hurt Raith again scares me more than them coming for myself.
"Foolish," Typhon notes, as if my private thoughts are an open book meant for his commentary.
"Didn't ask," I bite back.
When class ends, I gather my notes, watching as Beck and Ambrose argue animatedly about which of them was first to sleep with a fellow water affinity named Kali. Beck doesn't believe Ambrose even slept with her, but Ambrose is adamant he had her first.
Mireen rolls her eyes at me as she passes them, motioning that she'll meet me later at dinner.
"Interesting solution," a voice says at my shoulder.
I turn to find Bastian standing closer than I expected, his tall frame blocking the view of anyone behind us. Up close, he looks tired—fine lines at the corners of his eyes that weren't there before, a slight pallor beneath his tan.