“How ever will I know the difference?” The sarcasm dripped from Clarke’s tongue.
Colt pursed her lips. “You’re not one for respect, are you? Were they all like you in your time?”
She shrugged.
“Well. I guess we all have something to look forward to, don’t we? Right. Another thing. Where the Guardians have a tear under their eye, we Mages have one on our bottom lip.” She tapped her finger on the pillow of her lip. “If none are wearing uniform, then that’s how you can tell us apart, even out and about in Elphyne.”
Clarke narrowed her focus to see the tiny symbol etched there. The point of the teardrop started near the mouth and the heavy part of the drop ended where her lip joined her chin. “What does it mean?”
Colt straightened her spine. “With the Guardians, they shed a tear for each soul sent back to the Well. For the Mages, it symbolizes the Well is sustenance. We must be careful not to deplete our mana lest we become parched. We must remember to use restraint. Understood?”
Not really. “Okay. Got it.”
“You don’t. Mana can be like a drug, it can destroy. Or it can be like food and nourish.”
“Like ingesting manabeeze.”
Colt’s lip twitched, and thoughts collided behind her eyes. “Yes. Too much and you can go mad. Especially if you draw from the inky side of the Well.”
Eventually Colt nodded and waved Clarke into the academy. Inside, more glass mosaics depicted many romanticized scenes Clarke could only imagine were the dawning of the understanding of magic. Robed in red, one figure moved from scene to scene in various states of repose, investigation, and spell casting.
“That is Jackson Crimson,” Colt explained. “He is the first fae who discovered the link between the Well of life inherent in the world, and the mana we hold within ourselves. He founded the Order. I suggest you visit the library on your way home tonight and collect some books on our history. Since you will be living in this time, and defending this time, it’s imperative you’re all caught up.”
Clarke bit her nail. “And where would I go to look up, oh, I don’t know… let’s say… how to cast and break curses?”
Colt whirled around, her robes, wings and curly prism hair swishing with her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Um. Curses? Where can I find out more about them.”
“If you’re referring to your mate’s predicament, I believe the Prime has told you there’s nothing more to be done about it. If I were you, I’d leave sleeping wolves lie.”
“But you’re not me,” she replied. “And I won’t ever stop trying to free him. So, you can either help me or you can hinder me.”
“Why would I help you do something the Prime has directly forbidden?”
Clarke stopped. Stilled. And narrowed her eyes. “What did you say?”
Colt’s eyes widened. “I meant that it’s an impossible venture. If you want to waste time searching the archives, then knock yourself out.”
That was the last word until they reached an empty classroom that housed about six desks and a chalkboard at the front. While Colt unlocked the room, Clarke’s gaze wandered into the classroom on the opposite side of the hall. Set up like a laboratory, students sat at benches with scientific instruments. A Mage with pink hair leaned over the shoulder of another smaller fae, who in turn growled at her for spying. Glowing jars of buzzing balls of light were set up next to them. Each student experimented with individual recipes. Perhaps it was a test.
Barrow, who was at the head of the class, noticed her staring and walked over to the glass window and drew the drapes closed.
Yep. They were doing an exam. Goddamned college idiosyncrasies. Clarke rolled her eyes. “I’m too old for this shit.”
“How old are you?” Colt asked.
“Twenty-nine.”
A tinkling laugh burst out of Colt. “You’re but a babe.”
“And how old are you?”
Colt lifted a brow. “One never asks a pixie her age. But… fine. You’re the all powerful Seer. You tell me. This can be your first lesson.”
Okay. Clarke shook her hands at her side like a boxer. She could do this. Guess the lady’s age. Got it. Squinting and scrutinizing, she looked for clues on her face. No lines beside her eyes like Barrow. No laugh lines next to her mouth. The skin on her neck was elastic. Going by Rush’s age, and his appearance… damn. Who was she kidding? She had no clue.
“Stop looking with your eyes and start feeling with your gut.” She tapped Clarke’s stomach with her hand.
Clarke scratched beneath her ear and looked at Barrow’s classroom window.
Fingers snapped in her face. “Pay attention.”
“This is harder than it looks.”
“Because you’re untrained. It’s like teaching a donkey how to fish.”
“Oh-kay.”
“I meant no offense. It’s just the truth. I’m two-hundred-and fifty-nine years.”
Clarke bit her cheek to stop herself saying something derogatory. Apart from the Prime, Colt was the oldest fae she’d come across. And she didn’t look a day over thirty. She probably had a lot to teach.
Clarke followed Colt into the classroom. Set up exactly like one from her time, the familiarities set her at ease. It also disgusted her to be in a learning environment again. Her life had been about education on the fly. Street smarts, not book smarts. She’d earned her meal ticket every day. That was until Bishop got his hands on her. Then it was ignore the fact she felt the bad vibes in her gut because at least she didn’t have to work so hard for a meal.
“Where did you go, just now?” the preceptress asked.
“Just thinking about some poor decisions I made, despite the bad vibes in my gut warning me.”
“Bad vibes. Vibrations?” Colt tapped her finger on her lip. “They say the connection to the Well is like another brain thinking in your stomach.”
“It can feel like a flutter for something good, or a bad buzzing for something bad.”
“Good. I believe this is a solid foundation for your training.”
This was going to be rough.
Through a long window on one side, students and Mages gathered around the quad courtyard and three-tier fountain. The one who’d fallen in when Cloud had frightened them stood to the side, wringing his robe. Another smaller female with blue hair tried to use some sort of magic to air-dry it. Steam curled into the air.
“Take a seat. There is a lot to go through, and Preceptress Dawn says you only have four weeks,” Colt said and gestured to a wooden desk.
It was nice and smooth. Perfect surface for carving a “C” into. Huh. Maybe Clarke would enjoy this lesson, after all.
She took a seat and then jolted. “Four weeks? Why?”
“You’ll have to ask her. Okay, so we’ll start with recognizing the sensations of replenishing from the Well, how to compare it to drawing on your own internal stores, and then again how to distinguish it from the feelings you’ll get when your gift is trying to warn you…” Colt droned on. Clarke knew she should pay attention, but she couldn’t help the worry creeping up her spine.
It hadn’t escaped her notice that Colt had let it slip the Prime had ordered everyone not to help her break Rush’s curse. Looking out the window, she wondered where Rush had gone. And if he would come back.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Cloud had escorted Clarke to the academy for eight days of training.
In those days, she’d been grilled, drilled and turned into a pumpkin. Well, that last one wasn’t true, but she’d felt like it. Rush hadn’t been wrong when he’d said she’d be exhausted after each day’s lessons. She was the walking dead.
They kept her busy. Too busy. She’d not had time to research the curse.
On the ninth day, when the knock came at their door in the morning, Clarke and Rush were both surprised to hear the deep voice barking through, “Be ready in five.”
Already half dressed, Clarke tugged on her boots and raised her brows at
Rush.
Still in the bed, tangled gloriously in a sheet, he shrugged.
The voice had belonged to Thorne.
While Rush slipped on breeches, Clarke gathered the two books she’d borrowed from the library on elemental magic, and tucked them into a sling bag. She’d learned she had a small capacity for all the elements, but her strengths were in the spirit and chaos department... which was the psychic and the truth manipulation part of her magical canon. The teachers hypothesized she could one day learn to flip the truth on people, and make them think something was happening, when it wasn’t. Like a mirage. But apparently that could take decades to learn.
And still, none of it revolved around breaking Rush’s curse.
“Right,” she said. “I’m ready.”
Rush had been unusually quiet since their first day, and she put it down to the fact they’d not spoken to Thorne yet.
“I think today is the day,” she said.
“For what?” He checked his appearance in a black mirror on the wall, and brushed his hair back.
“For telling Thorne whatever you needed to tell him.”
He paused. And he slid her a look.
“Come on.” She went up to him and hugged him from behind. With a sigh, she rested her cheek on his back. “It’s been over a week. You wanted to speak to him so badly that you bargained with me, remember?”
The hard muscle under her face spasmed. “It seems like a long time ago.”
Another rap at the door and Thorne shouted. “Let’s go.”
Clarke patted Rush’s back and collected her bag.
Thorne waited in the hallway. At least he wasn’t walking around naked today. The Guardian had on his uniform, and rested against the wall with his arms folded. He stared at her. The brooding animosity she’d felt on the first day was still there. Initially she had been offended, but then she came to see he was like that with everyone. The chip on his shoulder must be heavy.
“You know,” she started, “I haven’t had a chance to tell you that another Guardian told me to look you up. His name is Caraway. Do you know him?”
Thorne narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.
Okay, then. “Well, he said you’re honorable. So... yeah.”
He gave no sign that he cared.
What a tough crowd. She gestured down the hall. “After you.”
Rush followed Clarke as they left the building. He never stayed with her at the academy, but he always joined the escort. It took her a few days to realize they weren’t shadowing her because she was a prisoner, but because they were her bodyguards.
Passing the house of the Six, Clarke tried once again to spy inside the windows. She saw nothing but the twitch of a dark curtain. The Slaugh who lived inside were borderline evil, Rush had told her. Fallen angels, some said. Disgruntled fae spirits, others named them. During the Wild Hunt years ago, when the first war between human and the fae-folk happened, the Slaugh were sent by the Winter Queen to kidnap the humans. The Slaugh apparently developed a taste for them. They were rumored to fly to Crystal City and take humans into their horde. The humans were never seen again. But their cries were heard.
Rumors, Clarke decided. She’d make up her own mind. She just wanted one look inside the house. That was all.
These particular six Slaugh were Guardians, which meant the Well deemed them worthy of holding the extra power... they couldn’t be that bad. Right?
Clarke shifted her gaze back to Thorne as he took brisk strides across the informal Guardian training ground. She glanced sideways at Rush, also taking brisk strides. They might not get another chance to speak and she was done waiting for their stubborn wills to concede. She stopped on the dewy lawn before the cadre houses.
“Wait.”
Both Nightstalks stopped.
She fiddled with her bag. She swallowed.
“Rush. I think you want to say something to Thorne. Now’s the time.”
Thorne started walking again.
Clarke’s irritation swiftly rose.
Rush gestured in the direction of the academy. “I still don’t know what to say. Let’s just go.”
“No.” She put her foot down. “Rush, you’ve been tying yourself up in knots about this. It’s the least he can do to hear you out. I’m not leaving this lawn until he does.”
Thorne checked over his shoulder, cast a wary glance at the house of the Six and came back. “Fine. Hurry up.”
You’re a jerk. “Good.”
She tugged on her gift, and felt the movement in her soul. The past eight days had only worked to help strengthen the skills she’d fumbled across all her life. The rest was a work in progress. She looked at Rush, then at Thorne. “Let Thorne see the truth.”
She sent her intentions out to him. Energy rippled from her body with the wind. To Clarke, nothing else happened. But Thorne’s gaze suddenly shifted to take in Rush standing to his right.
Neither of them spoke.
Silence.
The breeze blew.
She was sure she heard a cry coming from the house of the Six. She shivered. And then shook it off.
Five minutes later, the two wolves still stared. It was getting ridiculous.
And then Rush cleared his throat.
“I regret...” He cupped the back of his neck. “I regret the way things went down with your mother. And I’m sorry I didn’t do more to help you and your aunt at the Hollow.”
Thorne narrowed his gaze. “You just apologized.”
“Yes.”
“You’re admitting to owing me a debt.”
“Correct.”
Thorne’s harsh blue gaze whipped to Clarke. “You know he’ll leave you.”
“I’m working on the curse.” She patted her bag. Tonight she would hit the library stacks again. Surely someone could point her in the direction of tomes on curses. She just needed to garner a little more information.
“He’ll leave you before the curse,” Thorne added. “It’s what he does.”
Something snapped within Clarke. “I don’t think any of us expected you to welcome your father with open arms, but this attitude of yours just sucks. Shit happens, buddy. Grow up.”
A low, defensive growl shot out of Thorne. Clarke stepped back at the wild animalistic flash in his eyes.
“You were right about Jasper,” Rush blurted, stepping between them.
Thorne’s gaze snapped to his. “What?”
“He’s not on hiatus, despite what the Prime said. She’s not to be trusted.”
Thorne shuffled his feet. “Why?”
“How long has Jasper been missing?”
“About a decade.”
Rush straightened his spine. “I may not be able to do much in this state, but I can watch. I can learn secrets. And I followed many of you around for years. Some time ago, I saw Jasper at the Summer Court, having a discussion with King Mithras.”
“About?”
“I’m not sure what Jasper told you about his heritage, but he’s the king’s bastard. There’s a prophecy that the king’s son will dethrone him, so any descendent was killed. But since Jasper is a Guardian, the king couldn’t touch him. It’s a point Jasper always liked to rub in Mithras’s face.”
“He’s a Guardian. He can’t claim rights to the throne. The king shouldn’t see Jasper as a threat,” Thorne replied.
Rush shrugged. “I can only tell you that I saw them together and I agree with you. I think Jasper is in danger.”
Thoughts clashed behind Thorne’s eyes. Then looked back in the direction they came. Clarke tried to stay silent and invisible. This was the most the two had spoken. If they didn’t notice she was there, maybe there would be more. But Thorne continued toward the academy.
When they arrived on the doorstep, he shot Rush a contemplative look, and then left.
“I suppose that went well,” Clarke said.
“I don’t know what else to do.”
“Well, I don’t know if this is worth anything, but from a person
whose mother abandoned her, the best thing you can do is to keep showing up. He’ll get the picture soon.”
Rush’s smile never reached his eyes. He gave Clarke a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you tonight.”
And then he left too.
Clarke jogged inside the building and hurried to her class with apprehension. She was beginning to understand these lessons were a ruse to keep her distracted from discovering more about the curse. Learning the skills to harness her power could take decades, and since she apparently lived in harmony with the Well, she would live as many years as the fae. Since she’d learned the fact from Colt, Clarke did nothing but think about a possible long life spanning before her. A life without Rush.
When she arrived at Barrow’s classroom, she stalled. Taking a peek inside, she saw students preparing their lab stations. She wanted nothing more than to walk the other way.
With a start, she realized that feeling was her intuition. So walk the other way, Clarke.
Ducking her head, she carried on down the hall and followed her gut feeling until she ended up at the library. Before heading in, she took a deep breath. If anyone said she wasn’t meant to be there, she could just say she was returning the books in her bags.
She strode in with her chin held high. The smell of old books hit her nose and tension ebbed from her posture. Out of everywhere she’d been in Elphyne, this library reminded her most of her time. And she wasn’t even a studious person. It was that smell. And the familiar shape of the leather-bound books as they lined the walls of shelves. It was the hushed tones used when students whispered to each other. And it was the atmosphere of respect. Of ideas. Here, she felt anything was possible.
A senior Mage sat behind a reception desk made from a dark cherry wood. His bushy brows lifted as his eyes met hers, and then he settled back to his work with obvious disinterest.
If the Prime had truly asked all the senior staff to avoid helping her with Rush’s curse, she knew the senior Mage wouldn’t reveal the answers she sought. Rush would probably know where to look, but he refused to come into the academy.
Scanning the floor, she let her gaze pass over each desk the students and scholars studied at. She let her intuition do the talking. There was definitely something here. She could feel it in her bones.
The Longing of Lone Wolves Page 23
