Chapter Eight
Brokk
The energy in the Faes’ office practically overtook all of the students, and Brokk wished breakfast had lasted longer.
Memphis stood stiffly beside him, and Brokk leaned closer to his friend. “Can we talk?”
“You really think this is the time, Brokk?” Memphis arched a pale eyebrow. “We are about to go into a warzone.”
“Which is exactly why it’s the only time. Just hear me out. I’m sorry about yesterday. About how I reacted. I talked to Roque last night after the meeting, and he said if I helped the cause, I wouldn’t be expelled from school. You didn’t have to follow.”
Memphis smirked, whispering, “Yes I did. Do you really think I would allow you to get all the action? Besides, who is going to keep you in check with Iasan?”
Brokk grinned. “I would suspect you.”
Memphis looked ahead, lost in his own thoughts, not answering him. Brokk hated this. He hated being pulled into a movement fueled by politics and alliances. But what choice did he have? He had been a member of the Academy almost all his life, and now was the time they were all put to the test. It was either do this or leave.
They were protectors. Guardians of the peace. Or so they had claimed.
Rolling his shoulders, Brokk stood straighter when Roque opened the door, seeming tired. Tadeas followed closely at his heels. The door closed with a snap, and Roque eyed the thirty students and smiled slyly.
Reaching the front, he folded his hands neatly in front of him. “Thank you all for coming so promptly. I have been reassured that you are all the top of your class or have volunteered on your own accord.”
Vigorous nods met his words.
His gaze lingered on Brokk when he continued, “You are all representing the future of Kiero. Tadeas and I have reached the decision that if anyone doesn’t follow his orders while you are away from the Academy, those individuals will be brought back and tried for treason. Your mission is to tell anyone who is seeking refuge to come here until we have the situation under control and bring Cesan back. I hope you all know I wish I could come with you, but I am needed here. I expect you all to show Tadeas the same respect you would show me. He is here to help us.”
Brokk’s blood ran cold, his mind running into a thousand different possibilities. Here he was, trading his freedom to a man who had waltzed in proclaiming he was a King from across the Black Sea? To lead them to the capital to find a madman?
Looking over to Memphis’s furrowed expression, he knew his friend was thinking the same thing. Swallowing his doubt, thinking about what exactly they had gotten into, he took in the rest of the young men and women potentially ready to lay down their lives for this.
To do Roque’s dirty work.
Of course Roque was staying, to get word to the capital, to sway all Kiero to his regency. Or, he was staying to ensure no one found what he was hiding here... The thought had him practically bouncing on his heels. If Brokk knew one thing for certain, it was to never trust the Strattons, and things had gone from bad to worse in a matter of days. Somehow, when they got back from this, he and Memphis would get the truth and the full story.
If we get back.
He knew they were all underprepared for what Cesan was planning.
At the end of Roque’s speech, Tadeas started talking about the fierceness of him and his people and how they shouldn’t be worried. They were on the same side, a team. By flame, Brokk couldn’t care less, and his gaze flitted to each person, looking for an ebony head of hair.
Where was Adair?
He didn’t remember seeing him last night at the meeting or this morning in the dining hall. He didn’t realize Memphis had been watching him, and his voice was low and urgent as it shook through Brokk’s consciousness, “Adair isn’t here.”
He had to admit, it surprised him. If anyone would have volunteered, Brokk thought Adair would have been the first. Icy shivers ran down Brokk’s back, but it was too late.
The room exploded in a flurry of movement as they gathered weapons, Tadeas beaming down at them all as his men distributed an assortment of weapons. Brokk pushed through the crowd, Memphis at his heels, as he stormed up to a rover, ripping the sleek bow from his hands. “This is mine.”
The man raised his eyebrows at him, but Brokk slung the bow securely over his shoulder and with the quiver of arrows strapped onto his back he realized that any humanity within him was quickly being destroyed with every passing second.
Turning, he filed out of the room with the stream of students. The Academy was quiet, and Brokk liked it this way. No fellow classmates were there looking wide-eyed at their entourage, no one seeing what he was seeing—the darkness that was bleeding into all their hearts with what Cesan had done. He had forced the Faes’ hands, forced them to fight fire with fire or else be afraid that Kiero would see them as weak.
Brokk furrowed his brow, the steady pace of his boots against the floor was like a pulsing heartbeat, but in his mind, it was a war drum. His body moved lethally, his muscles taught, his adrenaline spiked. On the outside, he was the epitome of a warrior.
Could no one else see the sadness when they caught his gaze? When they talked to him? Did no one else care that the Academy was ripping their morals from their very cores, leaving behind empty shells? Leaving behind nothing but the echoes of dreams?
“Brokk, Memphis, wait!”
Stalling, they turned in unison to
