“What’s going on, Darius?” I asked, my voice coming out as a whisper. “Why are you like this?”
I had known at the end of last year that he was angry at my mistrust of Jareth, but this seemed like more than that. This felt like something big and heavy and suffocating.
For the briefest moment, I thought he meant to sprint through the door without answering. But then he looked down at me and let his mask drop.
I gasped and staggered back a step. The fire I remembered was all still there, but his expression was twisted and tortured, as if he was now the one being burned.
“I’m scared, Verene.” His voice was a ragged whisper. “I’ve never been scared like this before.”
My hand flew to my throat. “Darius, I…” I reached out to him, but he pulled back, something like horror crossing his face—as if he couldn’t believe what he had just admitted.
“Please forget I said that,” he said roughly, and propelled himself through the doorway, pushing the door closed behind him.
I stayed immobile, frozen with shock as I tried to process his reaction. I had seen Darius angry. I had seen him determined and threatening and cold. And I might be one of the few people in the kingdom to have seen him open and vulnerable. But I had never seen him scared.
If Darius was scared, what did that mean? And, more importantly, what had made him so afraid?
Chapter 8
The morning bell pulled me out of sleep, groggy and disoriented. It had taken me far too long to fall asleep the night before.
I stumbled blearily down to breakfast, amazed at how easily I fell back into the old familiar routine. The dining hall was already full when I arrived, and Bree sat with Tyron, chatting brightly.
I slid in beside them and greeted the Sekali boy. “I didn’t see you here last night. Have you only just arrived? Did you have a good summer?”
He grimaced. “I got in far too late and collapsed straight into bed, I’m afraid. And I’m consequently starving.”
As if to prove his point, he loaded his plate with what looked like it must be a second serving of everything on the table.
“I was just telling him about our summer in Corrin,” Bryony said.
“It sounds much more interesting than mine.” Tyron pulled a face. “And not as hot, either.” He scanned the table. “It looks like everyone made it back. I have to admit, I wondered if we would see you again, Verene.”
“Really?” I frowned at him. “Why?”
He shrugged and then grinned. “I suppose I thought your family might decide you’d done enough penance.”
Bryony laughed. “As if spending time with us could ever be penance! Plus, you’re forgetting I was there with her. I would have dragged her back here one way or another.”
“That’s true,” he admitted. “Your determination isn’t something I would ever doubt.”
He polished off his plate and started serving himself thirds. “I heard some interesting comments about your arrival at the Academy yesterday. It sounds like I missed something exciting.”
“I don’t know about exciting, but it was certainly wet,” I said wryly.
“Verene looked as elegant as ever,” Bryony added, “but I’m afraid I most closely resembled a drowned rat.”
“Actually, I have it on the best authority that I also presented the appearance of that particular animal.”
Bryony looked shocked for a moment at my declaration, her eyes flying to Darius as if she suspected the prince of having raced after me to my room so he could lob insults at my appearance. But a moment later her gaze moved further down the table, and she rolled her eyes.
“Let me guess. Dellion. The worst part is that girl gives the strong impression she has never in her life resembled any kind of rodent.”
“No, it’s a little hard to imagine such a comparison being applied to her, isn’t it?” I eyed the other girl dispassionately. “But I’ve heard rumors that large predator cats live in the high mountains, although I’ve never actually seen one. I imagine them being something like Dellion.”
A startled laugh burst out of Tyron before he immediately looked guilty.
“Don’t worry,” Bryony said kindly. “We won’t tell her you laughed.”
Another bell drove us all away from the table, and we streamed out of the dining hall together. Royce, looking no less unpleasant but a great deal more surly than when I met him the year before, rushed past me without speaking. His father was not only Cassius’s cousin but had always been his closest friend. Did Royce’s family know anything of what had happened here last year?
When Wardell and Armand passed me, they both nodded in a way that seemed friendly enough. Given their uncle was Head of the Creators and aligned with the general, I considered the attitude of the cousins to be a positive sign.
Frida and Ashlyn actually called proper greetings, though.
“I heard you were attacked by brigands on the way back to the Academy,” Ashlyn said breathlessly. “Was it thrilling?”
“Not as much as you might think,” Bryony said.
Both girls looked disappointed, but someone behind us snorted. I glanced back to see Isabelle close behind us.
“As if being attacked by robbers would be exciting.” She directed an unimpressed look at the two grower trainees. “It’s obvious the two of you live near enough to the capital not to have to worry about them yourselves.” She transferred her attention to Bryony and me. “Welcome back. I’m glad you’re both unharmed.”
I smiled at her. “Me too. And welcome back to you, as well. I hope you didn’t have any such trouble on your travels.”
She shook her head. “The commonborns on our lands sometimes do, but brigands aren’t usually foolish enough to attack a party of mages.” She frowned. “It’s surprising they attacked you, and so close to the Academy.”
I shrugged. “Perhaps they thought I was wealthy enough to make the risk worthwhile.” I kept my voice light. “We’ve been busy discussing what Mitchell might have us doing in the arena this year. Do any of you three know?”
My distraction tactic proved effective, Frida immediately launching into a far-fetched idea about how we would be battling monsters created by the compositions of our instructors. When we all gave her incredulous looks, she claimed her older brother had sworn it was standard training for second years.
Ashlyn wrinkled her nose. “You should know better than to believe anything he says. I bet it’s just more of the same group bouts.”
“I hope so,” Isabelle said unexpectedly.
When I gave her a questioning look, she grinned. “I’ve been practicing over the summer and have come back with a whole collection of compositions.”
Both of the other girls nodded.
“My mother had all sorts of visitors all summer long,” Ashlyn said, “including a number of growers. We got some excellent tips.” She and Frida exchanged conspiratorial smiles.
We had arrived at the training yard at this point, and Wardell looked over with a satisfied grin. “My uncle had an enormous family gathering at his estate, and he was full of congratulations for Armand and my excellent selection of discipline. And practical suggestions as well, of course.”