His breath was ravaged, but Brokk already had the knife palmed in his hand, as he and Memphis came into a defensive stance, their backs flush to one another. The wind howled viciously, and Brokk shivered, his breath coming in puffs in front of him. The moonlight reflected off the snow-covered forest floor, illuminating the definition of the landscape more.
Nothing stirred.
His palms were so clammy, they turned stiff and frozen from the dropping temperatures. But there, to his right, was a flicker of movement, and Brokk bared his teeth.
From the night, Bresslin Stratton materialized. Her skin was pale, her hair drawn back. Locking her gaze on them, she smiled softly, her eyes empty. Gortach appeared by her side, as well as the sound of hundreds of scraping claws and silver eyes staring back at them.
Brokk’s hand started to tremble as Bresslin stepped forward, unsheathing a monstrous sword, the edge dipping in toward the middle of the blade, creating twelve wicked looking teeth along its edge. His mind unraveled the history from their weapons class: The Curse, it was called. A blade embodied with unbreakable teeth, while also capturing the opponent’s blade, destroying it.
The snow crunched under her leather boots. “Well, boys, it seems we find ourselves at a crossroad.”
The rumbling snickers of her army sounded all around them. Memphis tensed against him, and Brokk clenched his teeth so hard the pressure was overwhelming.
Bresslin raised an eyebrow in mock shock. “Oh, nothing to say? No words of great chivalry? I’m slightly disappointed.”
The snickers transformed into full blown animalistic chortles, and Brokk’s cheeks flushed.
Behind Bresslin, Gortach rumbled, “Why not start with the shifter? He drew his blood and unleashed me. We owe him our deep gratitude.”
“Is that so?” Bresslin assessed Brokk, and he wanted to fade away underneath her stare. Jutting his chin out, his lips pressed in a thin line.
“Well, it does seem to be our lucky day. I assume this is yours too?” She held up his worn pack, and in her grip, the book, Myths of Kiero, was clear to see. Brokk swallowed hard. Bresslin’s lips split, showing her gleaming teeth in a pointed grin. “Oh, do we ever have much to talk about.”
Sauntering toward them, the ice thickened, and the snow howled until all they could see was her cunning smile. Her voice drifted on the wind, “The Academy is done. It’s time for you to decide which side you stand on.”
“We are with the Faes.” The words erupted from Brokk almost like a guttural growl, and Memphis shifted uneasy behind him.
“Really?” Bresslin appeared in front of them, and Gortach trailed behind her. Their reflections flashed in the flush metal, wide eyed.
“And here I was, willing to give you two a break to join our ranks, even given your status.” Chortling, Bresslin moved closer. “You see, boys, I think it’s very unfair that such power can be born from nothing. Especially you, Carter. Weren’t both of your parents desolates outside the capital? I dare say we took care of them.”
No.
Brokk watched as those vicious words crumpled his best friend, fracturing his control. Memphis lunged, screaming, “What did you do?”
The edge of the sword dug into Brokk’s throat faster than he could register. Bresslin tutted, her breath hot against Brokk’s cheek as Gortach lunged to Memphis, his long fingers closing around his throat, pinning Memphis to the ground. His choked screams bounced off the ice around them.
“Don’t move another muscle, if you want your friend to live,” Bresslin demanded.
The blade pressed harder, and swallowing, he felt the small incision cut and heal, cut and heal. His hands trembled, and blood trickled down his skin. Gortach froze, and Memphis drove his foot into Gortach’s stomach. Breaking free Memphis rolled, ice slicing through his clothes. Brokk watched Gortach’s gaze narrowing. Brokk knew Memphis was throwing every ounce of his ability into the fight, but it wasn’t enough.
Roaring, the ancient creature charged and slammed into Memphis. He instantly crumpled onto the ground.
Memphis’s scream tore through Brokk just as Bresslin’s fist connected with his gut. Wheezing, he doubled over, and she followed, whispering into his ear, “This is just a taste of what is coming.”
She slammed the pommel into his temple. Dropping to his knees, dots dancing in his vision, ice tore through his pants, skinning his knees.
The blade caressed his cheek, trailing down his chest. Memphis was screaming, the sounds like a dying animal.
Bresslin smirked. “This seems like a good place to start.”
Blade met blood, and pain encompassed his world until it was all he knew, all he could taste and breathe. And he lost himself in it.
Chapter Fifteen
Adair
There was something strange hanging in the air. A shimmering, tangible energy that quaked the ground with each step he took, each breath, every longing glance behind him. The tang of magic and promise clung heavy around him, making him tremble with anticipation.
Adair would no longer hide.
Sweat slid down his nose as he peered around the corner. The hallways were empty, and he had avoided all contact with the patrols so far.
At the end of the hallway, the smooth oak doors of the Faes’ office stared back at him, that light seducing him, gliding around the frame of the doorway, curling and unfurling with an elegant grace.
Stepping forward, he heard his soft footfalls, his breath catching as he closed the space in strides.
“Adair?”
Emory appeared behind him, stepping out of the shadows, worry etched into her every feature. She wore a loose green shirt and fitted pants. Every day that passed, they were both growing into the people that could carve the world. She stepped closer. “What are you doing?” Every word was pronounced.
He faced her, feeling his lips turn up slowly. She blanched, stopping as she took him in, sensing that something was different.
“Why, Princess, you shouldn’t grace me with such a late visit.” His voice sounded alien, even to himself. Smooth, silken, and full of mockery. Her face darkened,
