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)
"Draw from the world around you," the book had said. "Elements exist in all things—the moisture in air, the heat in stone, the gust of wind, and the spark in friction. The unbound can coerce these elements where others command. The unbound can pull them, shape them like a conductor shapes music from instruments."
Which explains why I've been failing so spectacularly. I've been trying to play the damn instrument when I should have been directing the orchestra.
"Nessa!" Mireen's voice snaps me back to reality as she not-so-discreetly breaks apart stale bread and sprinkles the crumbs beneath her bed. "We're going to be late for weapons training. Again. I could pretend to be you, but my ass isn’t nearly big enough to pull off the disguise."
I'm braiding my hair, so I toss her an amused glare over my shoulder. "I’m almost ready. And your boobs are too small, too. You forgot that part.”
She tosses a dirty training top at my head in response, and we both laugh. If nothing else, Mireen is an expert in finding ways to make me smile or laugh, even when my thoughts are at their darkest.
I make sure my braid is tight and my training weapon is strapped to my belt before I get up to leave.
If I rule out the ever-present possibility of death, then weapons training has already become my favorite part of the day. I’m neither the strongest, biggest, or even the fastest of students here. Fighting unarmed puts all those deficiencies on full display. Without a weapon, I’m hopeless.
My only talent there is an ability to endure pain and punishment, meaning I tend to tap out and yield much later than other students. But I’ve taken to the rapier right away.
Sure, I still take blunted weapons to the face, arms, and stomach more times than I'd like, but it's all in the name of training. And so far, I’ve been able to avoid getting matched against any of Malakai’s people.
But today is open for challenge matches, which means the danger level is amplified. A lot.
We reach the eastern training room just as Instructor Blackstone is pairing students for sparring. As usual, the training room smells like sweat with the faint scent of copper—no doubt from recently cleaned blood.
Blackstone's eyes sweep over us, narrowing when they land on me.
"Thorne. You've been challenged by Davrin today."
I freeze, my blood turning to ice. My heart slams against my ribs so hard I swear I can hear the echo.
Davrin. One of Malakai's soldiers. Built like a mountain with eyes as dead as a shark's.
Our instructors are careful not to show anything resembling mercy most of the time, but I think I sense a flicker of something from Blackstone. Maybe it's the knowledge that Davrin is almost certainly planning to use this challenge match to kill me.
I look at Mireen, Ambrose, and Beck. All of them have gone shades of white. But then Blackstone continues pairing up the challenge matches, revealing that we've all been challenged by Malakai's people today.
Shit, shit, shit.
We share a wide-eyed panicked look, and then we're ushered into our training rings. Each of us faces death, and I already know my heart will break if any one of us doesn't make it.
This isn't random. Malakai's been watching me since yesterday's hallway confrontation. This is his answer—a not-so-subtle attempt to remove me from the equation. Worse, he's targeting my friends because of me, too. The guilt crushes down on my chest like a physical weight, making it hard to breathe.
This is exactly why I’ve stopped myself every time I’m tempted to confide in them about my unbound affinity. All my precautions and one moment of carelessness in class yesterday put our lives in danger.
Beneath the fear and worry, I feel something else. Something hot and prickly. Something like rage.
Fuck Malakai. Fuck the people who want to turn this place into more of a horror show than it has to be. Fuck them for wanting to kill. For targeting us because I had the nerve to speak up in class.
A cold calm settles over me. A strange confidence. A sense of determination that I will not let this be the day that anybody I care about dies. Not today.
Davrin collects his practice sword—a heavy, two-handed affair that could crush my skull with a single blow, blunted edge or not. His lips curve in a smile that doesn't touch his eyes as he takes his position across from me. I draw my practice rapier, feeling its familiar weight settle in my palm.
I scan my eyes around the large training room. Nobody is paying the waters any attention. The airs are sparring and dealing with challenge matches, too. The fires are fighting in organized pairs, with Raith's large form easily visible from this distance. The earths are fighting as well.