Crime and Punishment: Great Falls Academy, Episode 2, Page 2

  Keep the secret passage a secret and let Tye take the blame.

  “We went over the wall at my behest,” I say, holding his emerald gaze. Then the rest of Tye’s words finally register, and I throw up my arms. “And why would I follow you to view stars, which I can see just fine by tipping my head up?”

  A quick flash of a smile. “Because you were so struck by my enchanting personality that you were willing to go with me under any pretense.”

  Bastard. “And I brought a sword along because…?”

  The grin widens, white teeth flashing in a way that steals my breath, “Because despite being struck by my irresistible personality, you are also smart.”

  “I am smart,” I tell him dryly, swallowing against the sudden cavity in my chest. I have to remind myself that, in spite of appearances, Tye’s casual familiarity is simply a function of his personality, not a true kinship. This Tye doesn’t know me—not really—and the sting of that keeps taking me by surprise, rising in sudden sharp waves. “And I also don’t let my friends take the blame for my choices. You followed me over the wall, not the other way around. If you’d like our stories to match, I recommend you stick to that one.”

  Tye’s humor disappears, the beautiful angles of his face going from mischievous to hard in an instant. “Trust me, lass. I’ve been down this road before. Do what I say.”

  I raise my chin.

  Tye curses, turning to Arisha, who is still clutching her sheet, brown hair frizzing around her sharp cheekbones. “Can you talk some sense into the lass? Explain how she’s just arrived, which paints a bloody bull’s-eye on her back.”

  “River and Coal do make a habit of encouraging newer cadets to depart,” Arisha says with a wince. Now standing beside her clothing chest, she appears to be having trouble working out a way to rummage through it without releasing her sheet. “It’s their solution to the fact that, for political reasons, the headmaster won’t allow any expulsions.”

  Hopping off my bed, Tye strips out of his jacket and lays it over Arisha’s shoulders, the large man’s garment easily falling below her backside. “Don’t get excited, braids. I’m not looking.” That done, Tye turns his back to my roommate and studies me unabashedly as I lay out my own clothing, a new drab gray uniform that fits me only marginally better than yesterday’s did. Other students will be able to wear whatever they want on their liberty day, but I’m heading into the opposite of liberty.

  “I imagine killing and maiming students carries little political good will either, so no matter what Coal has in mind, I’ll survive it with my limbs intact.” I hold my hand up, cutting off Tye’s protest. The necessary secrecy and tale the veil amulets spin can force me to do many things—but I will not allow it to make me shrink away from my males.

  I only hope that whatever Coal has planned leaves me with enough energy to go right back over the wall tonight. Between the soft interior of the cracked tablet and the fleeting nature of tracks in spring soil, I’ve little time to find and reassemble the magic-charged rune before the weather takes it. And after that, once the males have their memories back, we can get back to working out what allowed those morphed sclices into the human realm to begin with—with River back in charge.

  I put my hands at the hem of my nightgown and am about to pull it up, so used to disrobing casually around my males, when I catch myself with a flush. Another small stab of pain. I can’t let Tye’s easy way confuse my senses.

  I look from my clothes to Tye, who is still standing with his back to Arisha, eyeing me with a coy kind of mischief, as if the quieter he is, the greater chance I’ll have of forgetting he’s there. “Are you going to watch me dress?”

  “I could help you,” Tye drawls. “Though in full disclosure, I’m somewhat better at the disrobing part when it comes to females.”

  “Get out.” I point to the window. “Now.”

  3

  Lera

  Gavriel is so excited to hear the details of last night’s sclices when I visit him in the grand library, I can’t help thinking of Autumn, who takes a child’s delight in any and all information. Then I look down at the neat rows of pens, inks, and books guarding the man’s desk, and the difference between him and chaos-thriving Autumn becomes so stark that my eyes threaten to sting. I focus on the rough sketches of the mole-covered beasts the librarian and I are working on.

  “Fascinating,” Gavriel says, writing notes as quickly as his hand can dip pen into ink, his gray-streaked brown hair flopping over his forehead. “Would you say these sclices were bigger or smaller than average? Was their stench closer to that of vegetable rot or was it more a latrine-like scent? It may behoove us to have you walk past both the compost and refuse piles for an accurate comparison.”

  I’m all right, Gavriel, thank you for asking. Tye took a nasty slice on his shoulder, though; River is furious with me; Coal intends to make me regret ever stepping foot here; and Shade shifted without any knowledge of it. “They just stank. As for size, it was more that they were disproportional to their own bodies. Like the sclice version of a five-legged cat or something.” I rub my face. The grand round room of the library, with its soaring red-and-gold dome, cheery warmth, and ever-present scent of paper and binding, has a surreal type of comfort. “How could Shade not realize that he shifts?”

  “Hmm?” Gavriel works out quick arithmetic that I can’t follow on the corner of his parchment, then adds measurement estimates to his notes, which he tosses sand over while speaking. “Oh. Shade. I imagine the veil affects only the fae in him, not the animal. So the instant he shifts back, the veil spins a plausible explanation for missed time.” The man trails off, tapping his hand against the drawing. “Can you describe the mole pattern again? How many moles would you estimate there were?”

  My jaw clenches. “I was fighting for my life. I wasn’t counting bloody moles.”

  “No, of course not. That’s only to be expected this early on.” Gavriel smiles in what I think he thinks is reasonable encouragement. “We can work on training your attention to such details.”

  We can work on my not breaking your neck. I take a deep breath. Gavriel is the only one I can talk to about my reality, my mission. And that means taking his educated idiocy together with what insights and company he offers. I motion toward the stack of books detailing various runes. “Have you found anything more on the origins of the tablet I broke on the way here?”

  “I’m afraid I’ve had no success in that as yet.” The apology in Gavriel’s tone is sincere, which does make it difficult to hate him just now. The man takes off his glasses, wiping them on his thick olive robe. “I know you are eager to reassemble it, but I can’t recommend toying with magic like that without understanding the ramifications. For all we know—”

  “For all we know, River, Coal, Tye, and Shade are in danger of losing themselves forever if I don’t fix this quickly.” My hands curl around the table’s edge, my jaw tightening. This has to work. There is nothing else. I’ve nothing else.

  Gavriel sighs. “I realize you little want to hear this, Leralynn, but it is possible the males are exactly where they are supposed to be.”

  “You’re right.” I rise, sliding my chair back so hard that it topples. Comparing Gavriel to Autumn is like holding a lantern beside the sun. “I don’t want to hear it.” I spread my hands on the table, leaning forward into Gavriel’s space. “If you want the mortal world to survive, you need River, not me, to lead the charge. He’s the only one in this realm with a full understanding of the Citadel’s reports and the only one with a plan in place for how to approach it. The centuries he’s spent leading the fight against rogue magic don’t hurt either. Except right now, River is a bloody deputy headmaster of an isolated school. My quint commander doesn’t know his own sister’s name, let alone that he holds all of humanity’s fate on his shoulders.”

  The doorbells chime a ridiculously happy tune as I pull the library door open and slam it behind me. Bells on a library door? Gavriel’s strangeness re
ars its head in new ways each time I meet him. A quick glance at the sun says I’ve an hour to eat something before Coal takes his turn at making my life miserable. After that… After that, all bets are off.

  I walk onto the training grounds a few minutes before the Academy’s bell tower strikes two in the afternoon, the place deserted except for a single blue standard flapping at the far training court. In the emptiness of a liberty day, the Academy’s towering stone walls and broad cobblestoned courtyards take on an echoing eeriness. The ominous gray-skied murk of the afternoon doesn’t help. Corral after corral of neatly raked sand greet me as I pass, my attention on the lone shirtless figure fighting ghosts in the farthest of the rings. The dull thud thud thud of Coal’s training sword hitting rope-wrapped posts echoes through the yard, my immortal eyes tracking the warrior’s deadly dance from a hundred paces away.

  High strike, low, middle parry, step. High parry, roll over the shoulder, middle strike. Repeat. I know this pattern as well as Coal does, just as I know he hates it. The thin sheen of sweat covering his bare muscled back says he’s been here for some time—as surely as the two broken practice swords lying in a pile of discarded shards. In the odd overcast light, the long tattoo twisting down Coal’s spine and his many scars draw little attention to themselves, though I doubt I’ll ever not see them on him.

  My chest tightens. Stepping up to the fence enclosing the training corral, I brace my forearms against the wood, watching the wooden post shudder and rock beneath the mighty blows, Coal’s sword a blur as he dances across the sand. Even in the mortal realm, Coal’s strange inward-facing magic saturates his body, honing it for survival. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. Coal’s magic had flourished even during the centuries he spent as a slave in the dark realm of Mors. The male may not manipulate the elements like River and Tye or mend broken bones like Shade, but between his own training and the strength, speed, and faster healing his strange magic grants him, Coal is one of the greatest warriors the realms have ever seen.

  High. Low. Middle. Step. Strike.

  Coal’s practice blade shatters, and I wince for both the abused wood and the warrior’s shoulder that took the impact. Coal’s metallic scent reaches me with the shifting wind. Tossing the broken blade into a pile with the two others, the warrior turns to look at me, his blue eyes harsh. Unreadable.

  I search the male’s face for clues of what he makes of last night’s outing, the sculpted angles of his set jaw and cheekbones, but there is no information to be had on that front. Coal is too good at hiding his thoughts. After years as a Mors slave, he has to be. I wonder how his human persona is accounting for the nightmares—which, if I’m reading the tightness in his shoulders correctly, the male is having again. In spades.

  Taking two new practice blades from a rack Coal has already pulled out, I vault over the chest-high wooden fence. A trick Tye taught me, just as Coal worked on my riding and combat. Landing softly, I toss one of the blades to him, rotating the other to get its full feel.

  “This isn’t why you are here.” Coal’s hand closes over the practice blade, the wood already an extension of his body.

  “I’m aware.” I settle into my fighting stance, my feet finding purchase in the sand as I bring my blade to ready guard, watching Coal over the sword’s dull tip. “But this is why you are here. And I’m early.”

  Coal cocks his head, watching me curiously while tossing the practice blade from one hand to the other.

  I hold my breath. Talk to me, Coal. With your sword if not your words.

  He snorts, the blade in his hand now swinging a wide, contemplative circle. “You are aware of what’s to happen this afternoon, right?” he asks, his low, gravelly voice tinged with curiosity—and annoyance at my nonchalance. He wants me intimidated before my punishment even starts, and I won’t give him the satisfaction. “Moving stones yesterday was only a taste. Wasting energy before it even begins isn’t the wisest decision I’ve seen made.”

  I don’t answer. In the past year, Coal and the other males have trained me, pushed me beyond my imagined limits, cheered as I conquered each challenge, no matter how many tries and screams and bruises it took to get there. They never punished me, though—and the chasm of that difference suddenly shakes the very foundation beneath me.

  I swallow, telling myself I’m making a mountain from a molehill. From the perspective of a military unit, River has enforced discipline for centuries. Stars, Tye alone has stories upon stories of being punished, and I’ve seen Coal take his share from River. It never changed them from the brothers they are. This, even under the veil that makes us strangers, will change nothing either. It can’t. And as for Coal, I trust he’ll stop short of doing true damage.

  Realizing that Coal is watching me, waiting for an answer I’ve not voiced, I clear my throat.

  “We’ll call this a warm-up,” Coal says, saving me from the need to find words by swinging his blade for my shoulder. Hard.

  4

  Lera

  I snap off a parry, managing to deflect Coal’s blow only by virtue of having expected it after so many times facing the warrior across the sands. The flicker of surprise in the male’s blue eyes brushes against my skin, intensifying as I adjust my footing in an experienced wager that Coal’s next assault will come from above. Then an ankle sweep. Then—

  I fall backward, my ankle kicked swiftly from beneath my body, the sand rising in a small amused puff. Knowing what Coal will do offers only so much protection against stopping it. Rolling backward over my shoulder, I return to my feet, my attention tightening on the male’s movements. The slight, intrigue-touched gaze as he circles, the flex of his sharply carved jaw, the crests of his hips shifting over the waistline of black fighting leathers. His scalpel-precise strike at my ribs.

  My sword snaps down as I step, parry, strike, my breath quickening with each movement. The rhythmic clack, clack, clack of our swords vibrates across the empty ground in a hypnotic chorus that fills an aching void inside me. Clack, clack, clack. My heart keeps time with the strikes and parries, the perfectly packed sand beneath my boots a familiar echo.

  My breath catches as Coal’s blade shifts to his weak hand, a brush of pleasure rippling down my spine. The warrior isn’t just toying with me, but training. Honing his own skills as he dances, each swing and lunge and slice carrying enough force to crack bones. Trusting me not to get dead. Not to be frightened into dropping my guard.

  The harsh lines of his beautiful face are set in concentration, his metallic musk washing over me, weaving an illusion of usual quint training. Focus, Lera. Shade can’t just heal a limp anymore.

  I shift my weight again, circling Coal, my eyes intent on his hips and shoulders. The immortal’s ethereal movements flow with perfection, thin whips of steam rising from the sheen of sweat that accentuates each muscle. The tension of his pectoral as he winds up his assault, the ripple in his biceps as he executes. Never stopping. Never letting me stop either.

  Awake. Alive. My body blazes with heat despite the crisp spring air, my breath coming fast, the growing ache in my lungs a distant distraction.

  Clack. Clack. Clack.

  “Good to see Lieutenant Coal taking out the trash.” A musical female voice I’ve heard before sounds from the edge of my vision, followed by a beat of silence before coming again. “How long do you wager it will take, Tyelor? I’ll put a kiss down on an hour. Name your time and your wager.”

  My gaze shifts, cutting across Tye’s muscular forearms as he leans on the fence, Princess Katita standing beside him. Her white-blond hair and brilliant teal eyes mark her immediately, even from the corner of the eye. She’s that striking—and that invasive of any space she stands in.

  Coal lunges in, his blade rapping painfully against my left ribs, then twists to capture my sword arm. The eerie gray light sculpts his lines, giving his skin a new golden hue that highlights his harsh blue eyes. Eyes that hold neither compassion nor quarter. The blazing heat of him wraps around me, his chest expandi
ng with even breaths that make him bigger still. Claiming all my attention with a warrior’s ruthless skill, until I dare not mind my stinging left side, much less anything beyond the world of us.

  I gasp for air, Coal’s metallic scent filling my nose. My world.

  Stepping away for sword room, Coal loops his practice sword back in a deadly arc that aims for my head.

  I swing my sword high to meet his blow, the clash of wood filling the air. Rippling through my arms, my spine, my thighs. With our blades now crossed, I shove my whole body against the contact, forcing Coal’s own sword closer to his throat. One inch. Two. Salt streaks down my face, stinging my eyes. My lungs burn, my muscles screaming with the effort of it. Shaking.

  Coal cocks a brow, the first sign he’s given of having an opinion on anything I do. Even if that opinion calls me three times the fool for getting into a battle of strength. Letting my own momentum shift my balance, Coal steps aside before hooking my blade and ripping it from my grip.

  The slick hilt slips from my grip a moment before Coal’s leg hooks mine. I fall backward, landing hard on the sand just as my weapon did a moment ago. Breath halts in my lungs, the dull thud of impact filling my ears even as I force my body to keep moving and roll to my feet. Get up. Get up. Get up.

  Grains of sand grate against my tongue as I reclaim my fighting stance and kick Coal’s chest, my foot meeting a rock-hard body that refuses to yield.