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)
Raith doesn't look at me, but I see his shoulders tense, then relax on an exhale. "I don't make promises."
It's not a yes, but it's not a no either. I'll take it.
"Goodnight, Raith."
As I turn to go, his voice stops me. "What we heard... I wouldn't speak of it to anyone. If the Rector is involved, then the information is extremely dangerous. You don't want to be called into his office for questioning. Trust me." For some reason, his eyes fall to my left hand when he says that—to my disguised mark.
I slip it in my pocket, nodding, a chill running down my spine at his warning.
Trust him. Yeah. That hardly seems like a good idea. And yet... part of me wants to. Part of me already does, whether I like it or not.
He's facing away, his broad silhouette a solitary shape against the vast night sky.
His words follow me all the way back to my room, settling into my mind like heavy stones in the churning current of my thoughts.
When I finally sleep again, the nightmares don't return. Instead, I dream of amber eyes and scars that look like rivers of gold in moonlight—and of strong hands touching places that make me wake with a gasp, my body aching for someone I know I can never have.
But the most dangerous things are always the ones we want the most, aren't they?
8
"The elemental trial will claim some of your lives," Instructor Sestra announces, her voice slicing through the classroom like an executioner's blade.
My stomach twists, sending my breakfast churning in a nauseating swirl. Not because of the "some of you will die" part—that's been hammered into our skulls since day one at Confluence Academy. Death is our constant companion here, trailing us between classes, during training, and hovering at the foot of our beds each night.
No, it's the brand new bit of information. A fucking water trial? Isn't daily life here enough of a damn trial?
My pathetic excuse for water channeling is barely enough to form a wobbly sphere when I'm secretly dipping my fingers into a smuggled waterskin. The trick has been the only thing keeping me from lectures and remedial classes with Sestra, but I know it won’t be enough for long. It’s already not enough.
The others are advancing so much faster than me that I know it doesn’t even matter how I do in my combat training. By now, most of them could kill me with water magic and I’d be virtually powerless to defend myself. So much for he world-shattering dangerous potential of an unbound.
I'm so completely screwed.
Around me, worried whispers ripple through the classroom of white-uniformed first-year offerings. At least I'm not alone in my panic, though I doubt anyone else has quite as much to fear as I do.
"Before any of you ask—" Sestra's voice cuts through the murmurs, causing Mireen to lower her hand sheepishly beside me. "No. You will not be allowed to know the nature of the trial beforehand, just as you won't be able to know how you'll be tested on Confluence Day or what you’ll face in the Crucible. Learning to prepare for the unknown is part of your training here, so get used to it."
Sestra paces the front of the classroom like a predator sizing up which of us to devour first, her silver-streaked black hair pulled into a severe bun that seems to yank her facial features into an eternal scowl. Her deep blue eyes—the mark of water affinity—scan us with cold calculation.
"A true primal adapts. They overcome. They improvise," she continues, fingers laced behind her back as she prowls. "Our job is to make sure we don't insult the elementals by sending unworthy students into their realm. And make no mistake. If you’re not worthy, the elementals will hunt and kill you for sport on Confluence Day."
From two rows ahead, Beck leans forward, his broad shoulders making him stand out among the class. With his shaggy, sandy blonde hair and easy-going attitude that seem at odds with this place, he tends to draw the wrong kind of attention in class.
"Hold on," he says, not bothering to hide his skepticism. "I heard the real reason you let us kill each other is because there aren't enough elementals to go around. Now we're worried about insulting them, too?"
The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees as Sestra's gaze fills with venom. She detests questions almost as much as she despises Beck himself.
"Perhaps you should try using your brain, Beck," she says, each word dripping with icy disdain as she glides toward his desk. "Why would the academy care if there aren't enough elementals to tether the number of students we send?"
"Uh," Beck says, clearly struggling as Sestra plants her palms on his desk, leaning into his space until he shrinks back. "Maybe Empire likes a high success rate? With tethering... or something?"