Scent of a Wolf: Great Falls Academy, Episode 3

by Alex Lidell

  Winding around the densely ivied walls of the reflection garden, Arisha and I step onto the grand cobblestoned courtyard to find it already filling with a sea of red dress uniforms waiting for the ceremony to start. Voices echo gaily off the high stone walls surrounding us, the parade having not yet forced everyone into silent order. Bright morning sunlight glints off the keep’s many glass windows, and the ten Continental Alliance kingdoms’ flags fly from its cornices. Sparrows flitting about from rooftop to ground give it all the lighthearted atmosphere of a festival.

  My immortal sight lets me make out the details of River standing on the grand keep steps, towering over everyone about him—especially Headmaster Sage, who stands with his shoulders hunched and coughs into a handkerchief, his bald head almost glowing in the light. Each time someone walks close to the steps, the moment they note River’s presence becomes obvious in the slight faltering of steps and hasty bows.

  Arisha and I skirt the edge of the courtyard, aiming for the library before the horn signals the ceremony’s commencement—a ceremony I’ve no notion of how to follow. “There is so little thought to it that even Rik and Puckler can manage,” Arisha promises. “Stand prettily in a line while the instructors strut about like—well, much like him.” She rolls her eyes toward the approaching male.

  “Braids, do you recall my solution to supply calculations last week?” Striding up to us in the male version of dress reds, Tye is breathtaking in a tailed coat that shows off his taut stomach and broad chest. When his gaze touches my face, he swallows, his silence a tension-filled string of memories of last night. Sleeping on it doesn’t seem to have made Tye any more comfortable with the intensity of our coupling than he was in the dark of evening outside the dorm rooms last night. Clearing his throat, Tye bows to me, his attention returning to Arisha. “Because your hair looks about as well put together.”

  My blood heats. If Tye regrets our evening together, he has no right to take it out on my friend. I step into his path.

  Tye steps around me, his movement feline quick. “Turn around,” he tells Arisha, the fingers I know too well yanking her hair ribbon loose. “Let’s see if I can’t do a bit better.”

  Arisha’s face turns the color of her coat, her mix of surprise and pleasure tickling my nose so strongly that I sneeze, blinking in my own bewilderment. What’s Tye about now?

  Giving no indication of anything beyond his signature cockiness, Tye runs his dexterous fingers between Arisha’s frizzy brown strands, separating the hair into three neat bunches. “Maybe we can try one braid today,” he says. “It will be a good look for you. And maybe easier to…err…count. Just remember, anything not inside the braid is out of place.”

  Arisha shrugs as if she couldn’t care less, but her eyes fight to stay open under the relaxing pressure of Tye’s hands. Knowing those fingers—and exactly what they can do—I can almost feel them on my own scalp.

  …And the hint of a smile on Tye’s lips says the bastard knows that.

  I open my mouth to call Tye a bastard, but close it quickly at the sight of the approaching figure.

  “Well, isn’t this pretty?” Katita says, the red silk of her pants swaying from long legs and perfect hips. With her inky-black lashes and glistening blonde hair, the princess looks as feminine as she does powerful. “Your bloody lip goes well with that uniform, Osprey. Perhaps you should wear marks more often.”

  “Is there something you needed?” I stride forward, cutting off Katita’s path.

  “I need to know which part of keeping your hands off my things your empty mind found confusing.” Katita smiles, stepping so close that her rose-scented perfume stings my nose. Her voice drops. “You made a grave mistake yesterday.” Katita’s gaze flickers from my lip to the space over my right shoulder, where I can hear Arisha arguing with Tye over ribbons. “And there will be a penalty for it.”

  “Noted,” I say, pushing past Katita as if she’d just warned me about a new divot in the road. “Excuse me.”

  “I’m not done.” Katita grabs my upper arm, her grip firm and trained. For a human. For someone who’s not had Coal as an instructor for the past year, no matter what his veil amulet tells her.

  “Yes, you are.” Clamping my hand over Katita’s wrist, I put my thumb between her first two knuckles and twist. My heart pounds hard and steady, the simmering fury condensing to ice.

  The girl drops to her knees beneath the pressure. A scream escapes her as she tries to free herself from my hold. One flailing attempt at a strike bounces off my thigh. The next—

  “Arisha!” My warning lands at the same time as Katita’s wild leg sweep. It misses me entirely but catches Arisha midstride as she rushes to my aid.

  With a gasp, Arisha windmills her arms for balance, the books and papers in her hands flying into the air before scattering across the cobblestones. Papers with drawings of sclices and Yocklol trees and fae. Papers so dangerous that I made Arisha bring them with us to drop off at the library for her own safety—all fluttering open in the chill breeze before the princess of Ckridel. My heart stops.

  16

  16. Lera

  Arisha’s face pales. She scurries to collect the fallen documents, tripping on her own billowing pants in the process. When Tye trots over to help her, the pictures laid plain before him turn his scent from concern to utter, unfettered fury. Challengers have been barred from the Prowess Trials for lesser reasons than meddling in fae craft, Tye had told me in the stable. He’d not wanted to so much as discuss Rusty’s injury, much less be caught consorting with fae sympathizers.

  Beneath my hold, I make out Katita’s gaze likewise tracking the documents through a glaze of pain. The entitled cruelty in the princess’s eyes freezes, morphing slowly to a very different type of hatred.

  “Fae craft.” Katita hisses at Arisha as Tye jams the remaining books into my friend’s chest and backs away. “I knew you were poison.”

  “Katita—” My voice is breathless, my pounding heart making it hard to think. To come up with an explanation. A plea. Anything. Stars. This isn’t how my staying clear of magic was supposed to go, with others pulled into the line of fire.

  “I will see a noose around her neck. AHH!” Katita howls over a soft snap that I feel as much as hear beneath my hands. My preternatural fae strength rearing its head right when I least needed it.

  Gasping and releasing the wrist I’ve just accidentally broken, I step away from the princess, who is now curled around her hand. The blood rushing through my ears is as loud as a waterfall. From the corner of my eye, I see the guards running toward us, hear someone shouting for help. I can feel the stunned, quiet courtyard around us as our commotion ripples through the crowd, the somber faces pressing in from all sides.

  “Fall into parade formation, all of you,” one of the instructors shouts to the mass of perfect uniforms, the other picking up the call to form the cadets into lines. Keeping them busy despite the glances they try to steal our way. When Tye takes a step to join the lines, Katita bares her teeth at him.

  “You stay,” the princess says, nodding to a guard who cuts off Tye’s path. “You are a part of this too.”

  For a second, my instincts roar for me to bolt, but then a pair of iron-hard hands grips my wrists from behind, Coal’s metallic scent informing me that I am not going anywhere.

  “Get Commander River,” Coal snaps at one of the approaching guards. “And Shade.”

  “And Headmaster Sage,” Katita says, raising her face. “I’ve a matter for him. Please tell him I invoke a tribunal.”

  Within minutes, we’re crossing the courtyard in front of two hundred sets of heavy, curious eyes and climbing the wide, flaring steps to the keep. A procession of instructors and guards and us. Coal walks beside me as if ready to tackle me to the ground at the slightest misstep, an ironic echo of our march through the woods four days ago.

  My mind tells me I’m in trouble—very real trouble—even as my heart whispers that it isn’t so. Can’t be so. My male
s are here, they know me in their cores, they’ll recognize me when it matters most.

  One step ahead, Arisha sobs, the breaths heavy from the mix of fear and the never-ending climb up the steep twisting stairs to the top of the tower. I wish I could comfort her somehow, touch her hand, anything, but we’re separated by a cluster of tall armored bodies. Katita, having refused to be taken to the infirmary at once, is pale but holds her back straight while two guards gently keep her steady. Tye is silent.

  The passing minutes are punctuated by nothing but racing thoughts and heaving breaths as a dozen sets of feet climb to their destination. At the head of the group, Sage coughs into his handkerchief, stopping on several of the landings to clear his lungs before proceeding. Upon reaching the final floor, a pair of guards steps forward to swing open the double door into what must be the Academy’s equivalent of the throne room.

  In contrast to River’s neat, practical study, with its wooden paneling and small crackling fire, Headmaster Sage’s office showcases tapestry-covered walls, intricately carved gold-gilded chairs and a heavy desk so polished that it reflects the torchlight sconces bathing the room in shifting light. Sitting behind his desk, Sage points to a worn spot on the carpet, where Arisha, Katita, Tye, and I are supposed to stand.

  When Tye doesn’t move, Coal shoves him to the carpet. Giving me a cold gaze, Tye steps as far away from me as the space allows. As if it’s my fault that he is caught up in all this. And maybe it is. If I’d not turned my back on Gavriel, I’d have known what Arisha was researching. Kept it out of our room. Taken care of the damn Yocklol tree.

  River jerks his head at the guards, clearing the room of our escorts. Coal leans against the door, arms crossed over a broad chest. His chiseled face is hard. Cold. River steps back to stand beside Sage’s chair, his stormy gray eyes and beautiful sculpted face as implacable as ever. To them, I’m just another unruly student—perhaps the most unruly they’ve ever had the displeasure of contending with.

  Before anyone can speak, a confident knock sounds twice against the doorframe. Shade lets himself in at Sage’s bark of acknowledgment. The healer has a satchel slung over his shoulder, the gold of his dress uniform bringing out the sun-kissed bronze of his skin and length of his dark lashes that are too beautiful to be on a male. Shade’s glistening hair is plaited back, his yellow eyes somehow adding warmth to the room without even trying.

  “With your permission, Headmaster Sage,” Shade steps around me to lay a gentle hand on Katita’s shoulder, “I would like the girl sitting down while whatever this is about rolls out.”

  “Of course, do take care of the princess,” says Sage in his pinched, wheezing voice. “However, as she is the one to have invoked a tribunal, I will require she speaks.” He shifts in his seat to better address Katita, who is now trying to refuse Shade’s insistence that she sit on an ottoman. “Princess Katita. It is most…unusual…to have a cadet request such a meeting. I, of course, have nothing but the greatest respect for King Zenith and his throne. How might I be of service to his daughter?”

  River shifts his weight, the movement nearly unnoticeable except for the waves of displeasure rolling off him. “If I may,” he says, his voice even, “it appears that two cadets had an altercation just now, which led to the injury we see. An unfortunately not unique incident amongst youth. For the consistency of Academy discipline—and to avoid the appearance of special treatment that students from other kingdoms might read into this meeting—may I propose that I oversee the matter?”

  “My request has nothing to do with the squabble, sirs,” Katita says quickly, shrugging at her broken wrist as if it were hardly material to the matter at hand. “I’ve discovered that Leralynn of Osprey meddles with fae craft and appears to have co-opted Arisha of Tallie and Tyelor of Blair onto the same path. I ask they be turned over to the authorities in Grayson for further investigation.”

  My breath stops. Beside me, Arisha gives a strained sort of gasp. Sage sputters into his handkerchief for so long, I’m certain he is buying himself time to think. Only River’s face remains utterly devoid of expression as he clasps his hands behind his back and stares down at Katita. “Your proof?” he says levelly.

  “My initial suspicions were roused four days ago, when Leralynn of Osprey claimed possession of a medallion with what appeared to me as fae-crafted runes,” Katita says smoothly. “I dismissed the notion at the time, as you, Commander River, seemed to have recognized the disk.”

  Beside me, air catches in Arisha’s throat.

  Shooting Arisha a quick glance, Katita returns her attention to River. “The unnatural effect Leralynn appeared to have on Tyelor of Blair further bothered me, sir. In retrospect, I believe Leralynn may have used fae craft to coerce him into associating himself with the disk as well as making other choices that are of benefit to Leralynn to Tyelor’s detriment. However, that was only the seed of my suspicion. The proof came just moments ago, when I caught Leralynn’s roommate carrying fae craft documents. If left unchecked, I fear she will summon the beasts depicted.”

  Katita gestures to Arisha’s papers, which River retrieves from my friend’s hands. For a few moments, no one says a word, the sketches laid out on Sage’s desk speaking for themselves. Finally, River taps his finger on one of the sclice drawings, dark brows drawn in thought. “This is a likeness of the hog beasts Leralynn of Osprey assisted us in putting down a few days back, sir,” says River. “I agree the creatures are not of this world and question Leralynn’s judgment in describing them to her artistic roommate, but she certainly isn’t trying to summon the things.”

  Thank you, River. The wave of relief hitting me is so strong that I nearly sway.

  Katita’s chin rises. “You mean these hog things have already appeared near here?”

  “Yes,” says River.

  “No,” says Sage, before pursing his lips at the obvious conflict of words. “What I mean is that there is no longer a problem, Your Highness. The situation was handled swiftly, leaving no danger to the students. King Zenith can be assured of that.”

  “With due respect, sirs, then this is the second confirmed incident of fae craft that is tied directly to Leralynn of Osprey,” says Katita. “After two centuries of no problems, we have two within a week of her arrival.”

  “The second?” Sage asks, taking the bait.

  “I make a habit of visiting injured guards, sir,” says Katita, the stark similarity to what River and Autumn do back in Slait slicing deep into my gut, though I imagine Katita’s motives may be somewhat more calculating. “This morning, I spoke to the young man named Rusty who lost his arm. It appears that several days ago, Rusty scratched his arm on patrol. Upon returning to the stable, Rusty ran into Leralynn, who was mucking stalls as per her punishment detail. Rusty admitted to acting in a manner not befitting a gentleman, making crude comments regarding Leralynn’s body. In retaliation, Leralynn insisted on meddling with the small injury he sustained—which started growing worse before the guard’s very eyes. Unnaturally worse. The spread of magic-rooted corruption continued until the boy lost his arm late yesterday evening. Tyelor was in the stable at the time. I imagine he can vouch for the account—unless he played a larger part than witness in the events.”

  “No.” My blood simmers, my hands curling into fists. “Rusty was hurt, and his partner was pressuring the boy to downplay the injury.” My voice rises with each word, and it’s an effort of will to rein in my tone. “I looked at the wound. I didn’t cause it. And Tye helped ensure the boy went to the infirmary.”

  Sage coughed into his handkerchief, shifting through the paper laid out before him. “And yet your roommate carries images of the wound, along with predictions of its spread and notes on the magic that causes the blight.” He holds up his hand. “Commander River, did you not issue a decree that not so much as the word fae was to be uttered in my Academy?”

  “I did, sir,” says River.

  Sage sighs, rubbing his face. “Then it is safe to presume that this
isn’t an accidental bit of research.”

  Bile rises up my throat.

  Katita nods, a shawl of triumph settling over her shoulders as she sweeps the room with regal gaze before focusing her attention right back on the small man sitting behind the large desk. “With all that, Headmaster Sage, I request Leralynn of Osprey be taken before a magistrate for further investigation and trial immediately. I believe Arisha and Tyelor are likely victims of her wiles and not true accomplices, but that is for the court to determine.” Katita raises her delicate chin, standing tall despite her pallor. Her voice drops. “To be clear, my lords. I speak now not as an Academy cadet, but the heir to the Ckridel throne, which you all have pledged your lives to.”

  “None of this is true,” I hear myself saying. What the bloody hell am I supposed to say? My breath halts, the tension in the room vibrating like the string of a violin. The males—my males—are silent. Willing to protect me no more than I was willing to protect the mortal realm.

  No. Something. I have to be able to do something to save Arisha and Tye at least. I will do something.

  Beside me, Arisha grips my hands, hers damp with sweat. “You can’t do anything, Lera,” she whispers, her voice shaking. “Katita is the heir to the throne. She can do as she wishes.”

  “Lieutenant Coal,” Sage says, his nasally voice filling the chamber. “Take them into custody. We are an academic body, not a court. The magistrate can work this out.”