I swear it. A vow Nick utters too. For all their differences, there are still echoes.
I pace slowly to the ring, step over the white line, and come to stop in front of him.
He crosses his arms over his chest and fixes me with a stern gaze. “Do you know why you keep getting taken down in the ring?”
“Because the other Pages have years of experience fighting and I don’t.”
“No. It’s because the other Pages fight with singular focus. You don’t, because you’re here for more than one reason. The other reason is that they know their strengths well and use them. I’ve seen you punch a hole through a hellfox. The fact that you’re bumbling around this week tells me you still can’t control your gifts. Or aren’t trying to.” He scoffs. “If I could produce aether from my body, cook it up the way you can, I’d spend every waking moment trying to do it again.”
“We have different priorities.”
“An understatement.”
“Bye.” I turn to leave.
“Wait.” He catches my arm. When I look down at his fingers, he releases me. “I can still assist you, aether furnace or not.”
“You’re going to help me win a match?”
He snorts. “Oh no, you’re nowhere near skilled enough to win anything. I’m going to help you lose less terribly.”
“Wow. You’re a peach.”
“No,” he retorts, pulling a spinning ball of blue aether into his palm. “I’m part demon.”
35
THE NEXT NIGHT, the chapter mills around the great room. The competing Pages are too nervous to eat, but other people are enjoying satay chicken skewers and peanut sauce. I’m trying my best to stay calm, even with my heart pounding in my chest.
Tonight’s the combat trial and, while I still feel unprepared, the session with Sel last night at least gave me hope. We never reproduced the red mage flame—and we both agreed that was a good thing, in the public setting of the trial—but he’d shown me how to use my height and limited abilities in new ways.
Nick enters and finds me right away, pulling me to the balcony windows. It feels like I haven’t seen him in ages.
“I’m so sorry I had to leave without notice. My dad just wanted me close, and the other chapters are asking questions about the Table, and… it’s bad. Really bad. Can you forgive me?” He leans back and frowns. “You look scared, B.” His eyes widen. “Did Sel get to you again?”
“Not like that,” I say vaguely. “He… gave me some combat tips yesterday.”
“What?” Nick’s jaw clenches. “I ordered him to stay away, not to look at you, talk to you—”
“It’s fine.” I squeeze his arm. “It was good. He genuinely helped.”
He looks skeptical, but some of the strain leaves his shoulders. “Still, Rule Three is in full effect. Even more so after he performs Tor and Sar’s Oath ceremony tonight.” His eyes are slate and storm, worry and tension. “Did something else happen?”
Every time I think of Patricia, I get both angry and sad. “Remember that person on campus who I thought could help me? The one I trusted?”
“Yeah?”
Our moment of privacy is coming to a close. Heads are turning our way. “I was wrong. They can’t help me.”
I can tell he’s genuinely disappointed. “I’m sorry, B. It’s gonna be okay, though. We can—” The lights flicker, cutting him off.
Time to head down to the trial.
The room empties around us, and Nick leans against the window, my hand in his still hidden from view. He watches the others file out while I try to find some semblance of reason. As soon as the last person leaves and the door clicks shut, he wraps me in his arms and buries his face in my hair. I resist for a moment, not ready to let him in, but as soon as he holds me, I feel warmer, stronger, safer. Nick’s heart beats and mine answers, call and response. I could sob with relief.
“You’re hurting, and I don’t know what to do. Please tell me what to do.”
“I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”
“Deep breaths, okay? It’ll help you stay calm.”
Irritation flares inside me. Deep breaths. Stay calm. The same things Patricia says to me when I get upset. When the memories come, the anger and the sadness wash over me in waves, each one bigger than the last, and she has no idea how much they hurt. “Don’t tell me to be calm.”
“I’m sorry,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to my forehead, then my temple. “I won’t say it again.”
“I’m really tired of people telling me to be calm and take fucking deep breaths.”
“Okay.” He nods against my forehead. “Then let me just be there for you tonight.” He reaches his hand into his back pocket and presses a key into my hand.
I look down, wiping my tears away with a sleeve. “What’s this?”
He smirks, but there’s hesitation there, mixed with pleasure. “My room key.”
“And why are you giving this to me?”
“I have to go pick up my dad from the airport after the trial. It’s a four-hour round trip. After the bouts, why don’t you go upstairs and wait for me in my room. When I get back, we can talk about whatever’s going on. Or not talk.”
“Not talk?” I lift both brows. Red rushes up to his cheekbones.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says hurriedly, then pauses, reconsiders. “Unless that’s what you meant? The version of not talking that means we’re doing other things?”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing. “I didn’t actually say any words just now, Davis. That was all you.” The look on his face is an adorable blend of hope and uncertainty. “Tell you what,” I say, closing my hand around the bronze key. “I’ll take this and wait upstairs in your room after Gillian kicks my ass, as long as you let me use your shower while you’re gone.”
“Deal.”
We smile at each other, and the moment feels like it’s ours. Secret. Butterflies swarm in my stomach because while we’ve exchanged a few pecks, nothing has been as heated or intense as that first kiss. Taking him up on his invite means we’ll be alone in his room for the first time since the second trial. Nick gazes down at me, that same awareness mirrored in his eyes. He tugs on my belt until we’re standing flush and presses a warm thumb into my palm like a promise.
It takes another flicker of the lights to break us apart and send us in our separate directions, but I head down to the prep area with at least one thing to look forward to.
* * *
The arena for the combat trial is not far from the silver Chapel in the woods. There’s a single drawn circle in the densely padded dirt about the size of the middle ring inside the training room. Chairs and stools surround the circle where our audience will sit. Owen and Gill are posted at opposite sides of the arena with a clear view of the center. I don’t know where Sel is, but I feel his gaze from above. A tree, maybe. It’s not quite dark yet.
The six competing Pages wear fitted pants for maximum mobility, and tunics in the color of our sponsor’s Line, adorned with their sigil in the center.