by Aaron Crash
She knew. She had needed to test him, and he’d passed. Then her lust had taken control, and she’d wanted to flirt with him, to mess with him, to get him to want her. She’d been clumsy in her efforts, losing track of the truth—he wasn’t for her. No, he was an offering to the queendom. That was all he could ever be.
How to win him back over? Jennybelle Josen would have to scrape and crawl. She’d have to kiss him and probably do more. That was obvious. Her libido leapt at the thought. Her wet sex tingled with fresh arousal.
She had to keep control of herself.
Like her, Ymir would serve the queendom. Jenny had to give up her desire for him.
Auntie Jia, in faraway Josentown, would be proud of her.
Near the end of class, Ymir cursed. Water coursed over the top of his desk.
Daris gave him an evil smile. “Something wrong, clansman?” It was obvious that Cujan snake had cast a Flow spell.
Ymir pulled his sand parchment out of the mess and stood by his desk, watching it drip.
“Let me help you out.” Daris reached out a hand and muttered, “Jelu inanis.” The water swirled up from the desk and disappeared.
“That’s enough,” Professor Leel said sternly. “You can all leave. Ymir, Lillee Nehenna, you both will stay.”
Jenny stood. “Professor, they’re both innocent. If you want to know who’s acting like a child, it’s Darisbeau Cujan.”
Daris cursed her in Homme even as he gave her a shit-eating smile.
“Miss Josen, you will mind your own affairs,” the professor snapped and pointed at the door.
Jenny had tried, but it looked like Ymir and his elf girlfriend were on their own.
Chapter Fourteen
GRANDFATHER BEAR SAID it often. Sometimes you ate the steak. Sometimes you ate the bone. Grandmother preferred to talk about steak versus grubs because she insisted that bone soup wasn’t half bad. A tundra grub’s leafy taste took some getting used to.
Life in the North was a constant game of feast and famine, and there were some things you simply had to do.
Ymir left Professor Issa Leel’s classroom. The elf teacher had made it clear that she didn’t care much for him or the fact he was at the Majestrial. He would wear his college robes, and she wouldn’t tolerate any more mischief.
Lillee stood there, watching, pale and on the verge of tears.
The professor gave her a vicious glare. “When I’m done with him, it will be your turn, Lillee Nehenna.” Then she returned to berating Ymir.
She stared into him the entire time, and he’d returned her gaze. What could she take from him? He’d already lost everything that mattered to him. She prattled on until he turned on the ball of his feet and left.
“I’m not done. I see who you sit with. You need to choose your friends more carefully,” she called after him. “And get boots, or shoes, or something, young man. I won’t have you padding around my college like an ape.”
He wondered what an ape was. He wasn’t even certain it was a Pidgin word. Wearing those robes would be like eating bone, but he’d do it until he could dine on steak. He had other things to take care of.
But first, he’d wait for Lillee on the bottom floor. He noted a stairwell, blocked off by an iron gate, that led below the tower. So, the Flow Tower had a dungeon. He wondered what lay below.
When Lillee marched down the stairs, she was crying.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I want to be alone.” She hurried out of the tower and out of sight.
Ymir shook his head. In his mind, that elf girl was alone too much. She said it helped her, but he wasn’t so sure.
What had Professor Leel said to her? And why would the Ohlyrran professor care who Ymir was friends with?
Ymir thought about going up there and shaking the teacher until she told him why she’d made Lillee so upset. It was clear Issa Leel didn’t like Lillee. Why?
He walked out of the tower and into the courtyard. Stairs to the right led down to the Sea Stair Market and his cell. To the left was a covered walkway to the Librarium. A bridge arched over the moat on this side of the citadel.
In the archway, the three other human males in his class stood talking: the viscount, the smirker, and the new dark-eyed asshole, who spoke Pidgin with an accent not unlike Jennybelle Josen’s.
The Swamp Coast witch leaned against the tower wall in the sunlight. The clouds decided to leave him some sky after the trying morning. Jenny, though, probably had a storm tucked away in her pocket.
Her blue eyes appraised him. “You probably shouldn’t cuss.”
He kept his eyes on the three men. They didn’t seem to be going anywhere. The rest of the day was for unpacking, checking their schedules on the mirror, and getting accustomed to the campus. He’d already walked every hallway. As for his classes, he’d glanced at the mirror, saw his schedule, and memorized it.
That night, there would be the First Night festival: food, liquor, music, and whatever dancing these southerners did. The music would be in the Throne Auditorium. Ohlyrran musicians would provide the entertainment. They were returning music scholars from the Painted Pen Guild, whatever that was.
Ymir considered his options. He’d get to the three men in a minute. First, he would deal with the witch. Surprising that she would help him and then want to talk. He’d take a turn and beat her at her game again.
He walked over but kept his distance. “What do you want?”
“For us to be friends. I’m sorry I’ve been mean to you.” Something like real emotion was on her face.
“You haven’t been mean.” A pause. “I know I have a big uht.”
That brought a smile to her face. “No man likes to hear anything different. I see you’ve learned a new word...from Lillee Nehenna, I suppose. I saw her run off down the Sea Stair. She seemed upset.”
“She was, but that’s none of your business. We’ve gotten close. Does that bother you?” Not that he cared. He was simply curious.
“It doesn’t bother me at all. It’s interesting we use the elven words for sex, since they have so many issues with fucking. And yet, it’s even in their name: the Ohlyrra, as in the ohi.”
The word sounded like oh-hee.
“What’s that last word?” he asked.
“It’s a woman’s pearl,” Jenny answered. “For a woman’s full sex? Oheesy. Similar, but then it’s all connected for us girls.”
Ymir liked the turn of the conversation. He felt the lust in his belly.
“Your eyes, they went from brown to green,” the witch said in awe.
That made him angry. “Did you wait around to give me an anatomy lesson?”
She shook her head, a bit cowed. “No, just to apologize. I’d like to start over. It’s why I helped you. And I’d like to talk to you about what happened in the Throne Auditorium. Did someone cast a spell on you?”
“No,” he said. “It’s this fucking magic in me. I’m here to be rid of it.” He thought for a second. “Or to control it, maybe.”
Surprise crossed her face. “Really? That’s a change.”
“I did say ‘maybe.’” Ymir glanced over at the three men talking. They seemed to be about done, and he needed to address something before it spun out of control. Wearing the robe would be eating the bone. For now, he’d get him some steak. “I accept your apology. Don’t play games with me.”
He turned and stomped across the courtyard, enjoying the heat of the sun on him. He picked his target and walked right up to this Darisbeau Cujan. Ymir came within striking distance and showed Darisbeau his fist. “I’m going to punch you in the face.”
The black-eyed devil’s face dropped. He lifted his hands, not to defend himself, but to protest. It was the wrong move.
Ymir reared back and drove his knuckles into Daris’s nose. The resulting pop was satisfying. Like eating elk steak. The man dropped to his knees, blood gushing down his lips.
A few women inside the Librarium g
asped. One hurried off to get a professor.
Ymir knew that was inevitable. He was already breaking the rules by cursing, not wearing robes, and not wearing shoes. What was one more infraction? And if it got him kicked out, he’d find a hedge mage or a shaman or another school. He didn’t think that would happen. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t be the plaything of these whelps. This would send a clear message.
Odd the Smirk threw up his hands and backed away. The viscount knelt and touched Daris’s back. “Are you okay?”
Ymir snorted. “He’ll be fine. You three are going to leave me alone. You won’t talk to me. You won’t look at me. I’m not here to be your friend, and I’m not here to be kicked, either by foot, word, or magic. Stay clear of me.”
The Princept herself strode up, with two Gruul security guards in tow, their hands on their swords. “Ymir, what have you done?”
Jenny hurried over and pulled the clansman back. “Princept, I saw the entire exchange. Darisbeau cast a spell. Moons magic, like he did in the Thrones Auditorium. Ymir left the ground. I saw it. He was just defending himself.”
“What?” Daris spit blood onto the cobblestones. “I know enough Moons to lift an orange, but not a full-grown man.”
Orange—that was the name of the fruit Ymir had eaten that morning. “No, Princept, I—” he started.
Jenny cut him off. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t Darisbeau, but it was one of these three. Roger must know Moons levitation. He got over the brick wall during the Open Exam. If he doesn’t, Odd must.”
Roger blinked, gobsmacked.
Odd shook his head, not smirking for once. “Yeah, I do, but I didn’t do anything. This barbarian came over and punched Darisbeau in the nose. We were simply standing here.”
The Princept frowned at them all. “Jelu jelarum,” she whispered as she closed her eyes. The ring on her hand blazed with a cold fire that circled her arm and wreathed her head before disappearing into mist.
She opened her eyes. “Ymir, you’ll go to Gharam Ssornap. You will wear your robes. And Professor Leel was correct in her assertions about your feet.” She then addressed the bleeding black-eyed boy and his cronies. “As for you three, this isn’t a nursery school. You aren’t children. Hence, you will behave as adults. All of you.”
The Princept’s gaze fell on Jenny. “Your lies will only get you so far in this life. If nothing else during your time at the Majestrial, you will learn to speak the truth.” The Princept spun, and the orc security guards followed her.
Jenny leaned in close to Ymir. “Your eyes are blue. They turned from green. I find that very interesting.” She pressed something into his right hand, something round and hard.
He didn’t look. She hurried off into the Librarium, and Ymir went after her. He’d given the three men something to consider the next time they wanted to tease him. Daris only had to look in a mirror to ponder how he should treat Ymir.
As the clansman walked, he saw that Jenny had given him a bright coin, a platinum sheck, marked with the seal of the Undergem Guild.
A tumble of thoughts followed. Why had she given him money?
Other questions came to him. How had the Princept known all that had occurred? This was sorcery, powerful sorcery, and it made him uneasy. What else had she seen? How deep was her sight? If she could witness things that had happened in the past, she might be able to see into the future. He imagined himself casting such magic, to anticipate a White Wolf Clan raid before it happened. In battle, anticipating your opponent was critical. The more you knew, the more you could adjust, react, and strike. If he could see into the future, every victory would be his.
There must be some catch, some limit he didn’t know about.
The Princept’s words to Jenny had made him smile. That girl lied so easily, and yet she’d tried to come to his aid. What did that mean? He’d thought he’d win another game of words with her, but they didn’t seem to be playing a game. That made it even more dangerous.
He caught up to her in the Librarium. Already, scholars were whispering and pointing at him. His first day had been dramatic, all right. The Princept had returned to her perch and was sitting at her desk.
“Jenny,” he called.
She turned. “The sheck is a gift. For boots. You need boots. Obviously, you can’t walk around in bark and leather.”
He caught up to her, and they stood with the Coruscation Shelves crackling above them. They were at the center of the Librarium citadel. “I don’t know, bark and elk leather worked for the hundreds of miles I walked to get here.”
Jenny cast her eyes down. “You can’t hit people like that here. This isn’t the tundra. You do that again, and the Princept will expel you.”
“I don’t think she will,” he said. “I’m the barbarian with a dusza. This seems important to some people at the Majestrial. You, for instance.”
“Me?” She looked truly shaken. She touched her chest.
And what a lovely chest she had. Ymir gave it a look and then stared her in the eyes. “You want something from me, and I want to know what it is. I’ve flirted before. I’ve fucked before. But with you, just when I think you are telling the truth, the Princept mentions your love of lies.”
Jenny’s mouth opened and closed. Her lips disappeared in a firm line. “I want to be your friend.”
“Why?”
And then her blue eyes shifted to the side as she tried to think of something to say. Truth or lie, she’d have to figure that out on her own.
He placed the platinum sheck into the warmth of her cleavage. Just his fingers brushing that soft skin had his heart thumping. “Here, a platinum sheck for the truth. You will find me about, if you ever want to make the exchange. I believe I’ve paid a fair price for it.”
He went to stride away.
She grabbed his wrist. “I saw your eyes change from green to blue when you walked over to punch Daris. And thank you for doing it. When I tell you the truth, I’ll tell you why.” She dropped her hand.
“Until that day.” He continued on his way, noting that the orc librarian was watching him in her red robes. She stood at a table piled high with ironbound books.
And on her face was the very slightest of smiles. Her eyes, though, her eyes sparkled.
Then she’d noticed she’d been caught. Down those strange rose-colored eyes went.
Now, to go see why the Princept had sent him over to talk to Gharam Ssornap. It probably wasn’t to evaluate Ymir’s fighting skills. Maybe the orc would have boots for the clansman.
Ymir hoped they didn’t smell too terrible.
Chapter Fifteen
YMIR FOUND GHARAM ON the Sunfire Field. The Open Exam tent was long gone, and the big orc was collecting wooden swords in his big paws. A few scholars of various races were sprinkled around the grassy area, all in red-and-yellow robes.
The clansman marched up to the big Gruul professor. He liked the feeling of the rough grass on his feet. The sunlight glistened off the dew. The wet grassy smell mixed with the orc’s powerful scent. Professor Gharam wore his normal armor; the metal plates covered his arms and legs. The white hair on his chest matched the white hair on his head, tied back into a ponytail.
“The Princept sent me over to talk to you,” Ymir said.
“Yes,” Gharam growled, slurping spit. “Come with me. And grab swords.”
Ymir picked up one of the curved sticks, feeling the weight of it. The tundra clans weren’t strangers to metalworking, and most of the men could do it, if only to make their own axes, spearheads, and arrowheads. Swords weren’t unknown, just not preferred.
He swung the wood through the air. The curve felt unnatural at first. The weapon seemed delicate to him. The point was blunt. A real one would be sharp for stabbing.
Gharam noticed him and dropped the swords in a clatter. “I’m glad to see you aren’t carrying around that fucking ax with you. You ever fought with a sword, boy?”
Ymir felt a prickle of anger. “I haven’t, old man. But I would imagine
I could give you a lesson in fighting. Do you want one?”
Gharam grunted laughter. “I’ve been curious about you. We all have been. I’m supposed to beat your ass for what you did to one of the Flow humans. A security guard told me you punched some imprudens in the nose. Did he bleed?”
“I hit him. Of course he bled.”
“Of course he did,” the orc grunted. “Maybe I’ll get to see your blood.”
Ymir fell into a fighting stance on the balls of his feet, lowering his center and turning to the side to give the Gruul professor less of a target.
Gharam saw it all with a keen eye. “Yes, speed and balance are better than strength until you can find a weakness in your opponent. Then you can use your strength to hack the shit out of them.”
The orc came forward, moving surprisingly fast and gracefully for such a big, thick thing. The Gruul was twice as wide as Ymir and a few inches taller. Gharam lashed out, and Ymir caught the blow, sweeping the stick away. The clansman didn’t retreat. He gripped the sword with both hands.
Gharam put his weight on his right foot but shifted his sword to his left hand before striking. Ymir ducked and went for the orc’s leg. Gharam was fast enough to get his stick into his right hand and block the attack.
“You know you can’t hit any asshole who looks at you sideways, correct?” Gharam breathed.
They exchanged blows. Still Ymir didn’t retreat. He could see a certain advantage to the curved sword. It was a quicker attack with a longer, sharper edge than the blade of a battle ax.
“He cast magic on me,” Ymir said, remembering to breathe, which was part of his grandfather’s lessons. The warrior’s power lay in his lungs and heart. After you died, you’d spend all eternity with your insides still.
Breathe while you could.
“And you hate magic,” Gharam said. “But they teased you, didn’t they?”
“Words are merely words,” Ymir said. “They can’t kill. Magic can.”
“Magic against other scholars is forbidden.” The orc attacked from the left, then the right. Ymir barely kept the Gruul’s stick off his skull.
