Traces of Sulfur: A Young Adult Urban Fantasy Academy Series (Blade Keeper Academy Book 1)

by Madeline Freeman

  “How’s Marco?”

  “About the same,” Liza said. “Not getting worse, so that’s something.”

  It brought a small measure of solace that Marco’s condition wasn’t deteriorating. But he wasn’t the only one in the bunker I’d been worrying about since arriving at Blakethorne. “How’s Derek?”

  “He… hasn’t been home much.”

  My heart clenched. “Has he said anything?” I hated the way the two of us left things. I’d gone over that night again and again, wondering if there was something more I could have said to make him understand why I had to leave. We’d never even said a proper goodbye.

  “Only that he’s expanding the search for more L-B4 treatments. Marco can’t be the only one who caught the virus and left town. He says we have to be prepared for more outbreaks, and I agree.”

  The answer was just the kind of response I expected from my aunt: mission-based and concise. But it wasn’t what I needed to hear. “But he’s okay?”

  “He says he’s taking precautions.”

  I swallowed down the unease rising within me. It was unlikely Liza had the answers I longed for. Only Derek could reveal how he felt about my decision to come to Blakethorne.

  Silence permeated the air. There was no more news, and anything left to say pushed us into unfamiliar territory. Although Liza had provided for my needs since my mother’s death and I knew she could talk at length about the intricacies of her medical supply chain, discussing emotion was not something she’d ever excelled at. My worries about facing a challenge for the Aether Blade and about Derek crossed an invisible line that separated what we could talk about from what was off-limits.

  “Well,” I said at last, “give Marco my love. And when you see Derek, tell him… I’m thinking about him.”

  “Can do,” Liza said, sounding relieved. “I’ll talk to you at your next check-in.”

  Three beeps sounded, letting me know she’d cut off communication on her end. I turned off my comm and plucked it from my ear. The room beyond my closet seemed oppressively bright, and I tucked the device away as quickly as possible before switching off the light.

  It was a long while before I fell asleep.

  The Keepers were already at their usual table by the time I made my way down to breakfast the next morning. After a fitful night’s rest, I was dragging. But as I sat down between Clio and Bridger, a buzz of anticipation cut through my sleepy fog.

  “What’s everyone so excited about?” I asked Clio as I picked up my egg sandwich.

  “Today’s the first day of the mixed sparring competition. A lot of the cadets take it very seriously.”

  Something about the competition sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d heard it. “And what about you? Are you excited?”

  Before she could answer, Bridger let out a dramatic snore. “Snooze-fest.”

  Clio clucked her tongue. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

  “Bridger’s just mad because no one ever wants to fight him.”

  My skin flushed when I glanced up to see Nate leaning across the table to join our conversation. As always, my first glimpse of him sent my insides spinning, and when his eyes locked on mine, warmth spread through my whole body.

  “They’re just too intimidated to fight me,” Bridger insisted.

  With effort, I dragged my attention from Nate to focus on him. “I don’t understand. Cadets pick other cadets to fight against? Why not just choose one of them?”

  “Not the way it works,” Bridger said. “Professors choose which cadets face off against each other as they move through the brackets. The finalist gets to choose which Keeper they want to fight.”

  The last bit of the puzzle snapped into place. I turned to Nate. “Archie, right? The vice chancellor’s grandson? He fought you last time?”

  Nate grinned. “Good memory. Yeah, we do these things quarterly.”

  His smile kicked up a storm in my belly. “Do they always choose you?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Every once in a while they choose Thor and I get a break.”

  Thor dipped his head at the acknowledgment, but he added no comment. It made sense why someone wanting to prove himself would want to fight him. He was the tallest Keeper, and while all of them were muscular, his build lent it self more to bulk than lean mass.

  I glanced at Clio. “Have you ever been chosen?”

  She smiled, but something about the expression was strained. “Um, no. No one’s ever picked me.”

  I sensed there was something more to the admission that I was missing, but the swift shift in energy at the table made me hesitant to ask.

  The cafeteria began emptying as I dug into my breakfast. Although the Keepers were all done eating—or nearly so—none of them made a move to leave until I was finished. We bussed our tables, and I thanked the kitchen staff on my way out.

  “You always do that,” Nate observed as we exited the dining hall.

  A self-conscious flush crept up my neck. “Do what?”

  He raised his chin toward the building behind us. “Thank them. Every day. Every meal.”

  “Well, yeah. They make our food and clean up after us. Is there something wrong with showing my appreciation for that?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all.”

  He didn’t go on, and I didn’t press, afraid we might tread into dangerous territory. If thanking workers wasn’t something common to angels, I wasn’t sure how to explain where I’d picked up the habit.

  We followed the last groups of cadets along the quad and off beyond the boys’ dorm. I had never been to this side of campus, but everyone else seemed to know their way around.

  Clio pointed to a square, one-story building whose gray stone façade had cracked and crumbled in many places. “That’s the old gym,” she told me. “Teams used to take turns in there or out on the field. But I think they use the building for storage now.”

  I was about to ask what field, but as we moved beyond a copse of trees, I spotted metal bleachers surrounding a large open area. Cadets streamed in, filling up the benches. Bridger led our group to a bank of seats at the far end of the field. We climbed up to the top row, beyond the other cadets on the stand. The air sizzled with expectation, and although I knew I was to be nothing but a spectator of the proceedings, my skin tingled with anticipation. Someone had chalked thirty rings out at intervals on the field, and a group of professors stood in the center of the arena.

  “There are five hundred cadets, so the early brackets run multiple fights at a time.”

  My stomach fluttered at the sound of Nate’s voice so close to my ear. Although I’d walked up behind Clio, somehow the two of them had shifted position once we reached the bleachers, leaving the two of us sitting at the end of our row.

  “Otherwise, we’d be here for a week,” he continued. “As it is, this is already an all-day event.”

  I scooted an inch away from him on the bench under the pretense of turning to see him better. “So, are we just supposed to sit here and watch all day? Doesn’t that seem like a waste of time?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “What? You’d rather be in physics?”

  “Well, no,” I began, but Nate just chuckled.

  “Think of it as a learning experience. We’re usually so isolated from the rest of the academy. It’s nice to see our fellow cadets in action.”

  Although the whole thing sounded as dull as dirt to me, I attempted to re-frame the entire event. If Liza were here, what benefit would she find? I scanned the stands. A handful of students stood out as familiar from my classes, but most were almost completely unknown. Perhaps today I could learn a few more names. With any luck, I could find connections between cadets and important politicians or Guard members. And seeing the students in action could help me determine if there were any favored fighting techniques. That information could be useful for Liza’s runners, who were more likely to bump into the Guard than other members of her organization.

  So what if tod
ay would be a long day of sitting around? I couldn’t lose sight of my mission, even in the mundane. As Professor Danson’s amplified voice called out the first ten pairs to face off, I turned my attention to the field before me.

  But no matter how hard I tried to focus, I couldn’t quite ignore Nate’s presence on the bench beside me.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Besides watching the Keepers spar in the training gym, the only fights I’d ever witnessed were between wound-up Cameron Heights residents on street corners, upset about perceived slights. I supposed I’d also seen altercations between guardsmen and demons in the city, but those were less equal-opportunity fights and more beatings for the sake of asserting dominance.

  These matches were entirely different. Before each fight began, a professor would flip a coin for each pair. The winner of the flip chose which weapon they would battle with—although several chose hand-to-hand as their method.

  I thought I’d grown accustomed to sparring, but the sheer scale of this competition took my breath away. I hardly knew where to look as the different pairs faced off. Nate served as an excellent commentator, giving names and brief histories of most of the cadets. His predictions about who would win each match were almost always accurate.

  About an hour into the competition, a familiar name pricked my ears: Maisie Moran. I smiled as the would-be reporter strode into her assigned circle. But that smile fell when I glimpsed her opponent. The guy was easily twice her size. The pairing was absurd, like a giant facing a child.

  I pointed toward the field. “What’s that all about?”

  Nate sighed. “Basil Podraza. He’s an… interesting opponent for Maisie.”

  “Right? You can’t tell me there’s not another guy his size for him to fight. Like that one,” I said, pointing to another occupied circle. “Or that one. And that girl over there is probably almost as tall as him.”

  “Well,” Nate said in the diplomatic tone I’d heard him use at the welcoming banquet, “when we’re full members of the Guard, our opponent won’t always be a fair match. We have to prepare for any circumstance.”

  “But no one else is so unequally paired up,” I scoffed. “It’s like they want her to lose.”

  A muscle in Nate’s jaw jumped, but the whistle to start the round blew before I could ask anything more.

  Basil had won the coin flip and chosen a short, sickle-like weapon Nate identified as a kama.

  A flurry of motion began as soon as the whistle’s blast faded from the air. Instead of circling and sizing Maisie up, Basil ran directly for her, swinging his kama directly at Maisie’s head. An inarticulate shout of warning escaped my lips, but the noise was unnecessary: by the time the sound hit the air, Maisie had already jumped out of the way.

  Her opponent didn’t let up. Seemingly without pausing to take a breath, he came after her again. And again. And again. His entire strategy appeared to be to wear Maisie out to the point of exhaustion.

  The match went on for what felt like an eternity. I wanted to look at Nate to detect any indication that things would end soon, but I couldn’t take my eyes off what was happening in the ring. Maisie controlled each of her movements, but as the minutes ticked by, she became perceptibly slower. Her opponent seemed to notice, because he took a moment to grin at the cadets seated in the nearest bank of bleachers—a move that elicited a shout from the group that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  But his momentary lapse in concentration was just what Maisie needed. She rushed Basil and swept his legs out from under him, knocking the guy to the ground. A split second later, Maisie had knocked the kama from Basil’s hand and had the blade of her own weapon pressed against Basil’s neck.

  As the professor overseeing their match called it for Maisie, I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “I can’t believe it.”

  Nate chuckled. “Maisie is tougher than she looks.”

  Another hour passed before Professor Danson announced the competition was moving on to the second bracket. As he called the first sets of pairs, an unpleasant jolt shot through me when he said Shonda Hailwood. With so many fights happening at the same time, I’d missed her promotion. Part of me had been hoping she was all talk, but apparently she had some skill to back up her mouth.

  During Shonda’s match, I silently rooted for her opponent, Alice Berkley. But all my internal cheering was for nothing because Shonda won.

  Maisie won her second round, too, and as the field transitioned into the third round, Nate explained that since there was an uneven number of cadets this round, the top-rated fighter so far would automatically progress to round four. To my dismay, that cadet was Shonda.

  During the third round, kitchen workers fanned through the stands to hand out bagged lunches. I couldn’t help noting Nate thanked the man who handed ours down.

  “It’s not fair Shonda gets a free pass,” I muttered as I nibbled on my ham sandwich.

  “She gets a decent rest during round three,” Nate agreed, “but she’ll pay for it in round four.”

  The news perked me up. “How’s that?”

  He grinned. “If she wants to move on to round five, she’ll still have to fight two cadets. The top two fighters from round four will go up against her. Well, if she beats the first, she’ll face the second. Or one of them will bump her out and she won’t progress.”

  “Here’s hoping.”

  Maisie made it through to round four and beat her opponent there yet again. For the last fight in the round, the professors set up the three-way fight Nate had described. Shonda would square off against one cadet, and the winner of that match would immediately fight the next.

  But my hopes that one of the other high-ranked students would bump Shonda out of the running were dashed, and she advanced to round five.

  In round six, only eight cadets remained. The excitement in the stadium electrified the air. I was on my feet along with the Keepers as we cheered on Maisie. But despite our shouts, she was finally beaten by Leah Carlisle.

  Along with Leah, Elisha McBrier and Wyatt Horne made it to round seven. And Shonda. During the break before the next match began, Nate discussed the strengths and weaknesses of each fighter. I tried to focus, but I couldn’t. A shadowy sense of dread crept over me with each passing minute.

  Time seemed to march at double time. Round seven ended with Shonda and Wyatt as the winners. And although Nate and Thor were engaged in a lively debate as to which one of them Wyatt would choose to go up against when he won, my stomach tied itself in knots as I watched the fight unfold.

  Having won the coin toss, Wyatt had selected hand-to-hand as the method of combat. I assumed he expected his longer reach would benefit him, but his size afforded him no advantage as the two of them fought. Shonda had speed on her side, and while the whole crowd gasped when she knocked Wyatt to the ground and held him there, her victory felt like a foregone conclusion in my bones.

  Headmaster Kemp was all smiles when she approached Shonda, holding the microphone Professor Danson had used all day to make announcements. “Will the Blade Keepers join us on the field?”

  My legs threatened to buckle beneath me as I rose to my feet. Nate kept pace beside me, his fingers skimming the small of my back as we descended. The anticipation in the air was stifling, and the gazes of the cadets and the professors pressed down on my shoulders like a physical weight.

  The Keepers fell into line beside the headmaster, and I stood at the end of the line, as far from Shonda as possible. When Kemp called for the cadets to celebrate the competition’s finalist, the roar from the crowd threatened to deafen me.

  “You’ve shown exceptional skill and perseverance today,” the headmaster said when the applause died down. “I’m sure you’re tired after all those matches.”

  Shonda took the mic from Kemp. “Not at all,” she said in a confident tone that called goosebumps to my skin.

  The headmaster’s smile strained as she tugged the microphone away from Shonda. She straig
htened as she turned her attention back to the crowd, tugging her suit jacket with her free hand. “Have you given any thought as to which Keeper you’d like to privilege of sparring with?”

  The intervening seconds stretched out like an eternity. She waited for the headmaster to hand her the mic this time. “I have,” Shonda said coolly, a smile curving her lips. “Eden Jensen.”

  Oxygen rushed from my lungs and I struggled to suck in a breath. The inevitability of her decision circled my chest and squeezed like a snake. Of course she wanted to fight me. I was positive she’d been itching to do it since the day they announced the Aether Blade chose me.

  Headmaster Kemp beamed as she turned to me. “Cadet Jensen. A fine choice.” She kept the microphone close to her mouth, allowing the cadets in the stands to hear the conversation. “Cadet Hailwood, will you be taking advantage of the customary half hour rest period?”

  Hope flickered within me. A half hour? I could do something with that time.

  But the smirk on Shonda’s lips stopped my plans in their tracks. “No thank you, Headmaster. I’m ready now.”

  “Well,” Kemp said, a note of surprise in her voice, “then let’s get you two into position…”

  The Keepers circled me. Clio’s green eyes were wide. “Don’t throw up.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t do this.”

  Nate gripped my shoulders, ducking until he was in my eye line. “Yes, you can,” he said firmly.

  “I have no idea what I’m doing! I’m going to lose!”

  “That’s okay. I lost my first time, too.”

  His admission cut through the panic surging in my veins. “You?”

  He nodded. “And then I won the second, but I lost the third.” He tucked a loose lock of hair behind my ear, the gentle touch making me shiver. “Do your best. That’s all anyone’s looking for today.”

  His smile, which usually kicked up butterflies in my stomach, sent it roiling. That was easy for him to say. But the look in Shonda’s eyes warned danger awaited me in the ring.