“Patience, Luke,” the other theotech told him. “Have you somewhere else to be?”
Luke frowned but said nothing.
“Indeed, unauthorized combat is a serious crime,” Vyros said, turning back to her. “We cannot let the islands descend into anarchy as they act out their petty grudges. Permission for a duel was given only for Eric Drae of Galen to fight Dean Averson of Weshern, not for Breanna Skyborn. I see no other way to interpret these events.”
Headmaster Simmons cleared his throat to gain their attention.
“What you saw was a woman initiating a duel against the man who killed her lover,” he said. “As such, it is a perfectly defensible reason for a duel, a duel that Eric clearly accepted by turning about and attacking Bree with his element.”
Luke looked like he’d been sucker punched.
“Is that true?” he asked, whirling on Bree.
“I… no,” Bree said, making sure she addressed Vyros and not Luke. “Dean and I weren’t…”
“Breanna,” Jay said, his deep voice brooking no argument. “Tell the truth. Were you and Dean lovers?”
Dean had always insisted they keep their relationship private, to avoid any possible punishment from the academy administration, but that seemed pointless now. Without Dean, there was no secret left to keep. Bree looked to the floor and fought down a wave of embarrassment at admitting such a thing to four older men.
“Yes,” she said. “We were.”
“Valid reason as it may be,” Luke said, “it still doesn’t justify this farcical duel. No permission for their fight was ever given by Center.”
“Permission doesn’t need to be given,” Jay said. “The practice began as a courtesy, and has now become tradition. All duels must be willingly accepted by both parties, begun on fair terms, and watched by a neutral third party. Those are the only rules we must abide by, and Breanna followed all three.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Luke said, and he sounded completely baffled. “Even if that were the case, Center never accepts any duels involving a Seraph below the age of eighteen.”
“Again, that is policy, not law,” Jay said, turning to Vyros. “And the punishment for breaking it is my responsibility, not yours. With two theotechs as witnesses, Breanna Skyborn engaged the murderer of her lover and defeated him in fair combat, having issued her challenge by flying after him, and he clearly accepting by being the first to use his element. Can you deny any of this?”
“It does indeed match what we witnessed,” Vyros said, looking to the other theotech, who nodded.
Luke looked ready to explode, and he clearly saw his opportunity for retribution dwindling.
“If you accept this, you spit in the face of all of Galen,” he told Vyros. “Eric was a good man who fought and won a fair duel against a family that has tormented him for years, only to be attacked and killed without warning or preparation.”
Bree frowned at that. Tormented? What did Luke mean by that?
“Eric dumped Dean’s body at his lover’s feet,” Headmaster Simmons interjected. “I think you and I disagree on what it means to be a good man.”
“It was an act of respect, not mockery!”
“Enough,” Vyros said, stepping between them. “We have reached our decision, and it is final. By killing Dean, Eric provided ample reason for another duel, the nature of which was clearly spontaneous due to Breanna’s use of Dean’s old harness. The battle was fair, and Eric’s actions showed he had every desire to partake in it.”
“This is shameful!” Luke shouted.
“Then look to the man who brought you that shame,” the other theotech said. “Put it on the shoulders of your own Seraph, who lost to a first-year student lacking a single minute of combat experience.”
Luke flung open the door, but before he left he turned and pointed a finger right at Headmaster Simmons.
“This will not go unanswered,” he said. “Our people will cry for justice, and our Seraphim will give it to them.”
Luke slammed the door behind him. Bree watched him go, and while she knew she should feel relief, she just felt drained. She’d cried her tears, first over Dean’s body, then the body of his killer. Now she only wanted rest. Vyros walked to her side, and at his beckon, she leaned forward and twisted to give him access to the manacles. Pulling a key from his pocket, he unlocked them, and Bree groaned with relief as she pulled her arms before her, stretching muscles that were now terribly sore.
“I would strongly recommend not performing such a stunt again,” the theotech said. “The extenuating circumstances here are all that protect you. Should this offense be repeated by any Seraph of Weshern,” he said, glancing at Headmaster Simmons, “then we will consider this a purposeful slight toward Center’s authority, and will react accordingly.”
“I assure you, it will not happen again,” Jay said.
“Good.”
The two theotechs dipped their heads in respect and then stepped out. The door shut behind them, leaving Bree alone with the headmaster. The older man crossed his arms and stared at her, his lip and jaw twisting as if he were chewing on his own tongue.
“What did Luke mean, about Dean’s family tormenting Eric’s?” she asked when he did not speak.
“Dean’s father was a skilled Seraph,” Jay said. “He died in battle against Galen, but before he fell he killed both of Eric’s parents. The siblings have challenged each other to duels ever since, an unfortunate tradition I’ve been forced to witness over the past six years. I daresay when Eric dropped Dean’s body at your feet, he thought that tradition finally come to an end.”
Bree winced at the memory, wishing she could somehow push it away, pretend it never was.
“What Luke said… he’s threatening war, isn’t he?” she asked. “Why would you risk so much for me?”
“Because I watched two good students die at that man’s hands,” Jay said. “And when you flew after him, I thought I was about to watch a third. For that alone, I refuse to let you drop to your death in a Galen well.”
Bree nodded, still feeling unworthy of such a gamble.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking.
“That doesn’t mean you will escape this completely,” he said. “I have not decided your punishment, and I won’t without speaking to the Archon first. Until further notice, you are confined within the academy’s walls and skies directly above. You are also banned from all training sessions and classes. Know that if you fly beyond our walls in an attempt to flee or hide, I will have you executed the moment you are found. And you will be found, Bree. Weshern is not big enough to hide you forever.”
“Yes sir,” Bree said, her mouth suddenly feeling like it’d been stuffed with cloth.
The headmaster stared at her a moment longer, then shook his head.
“Maintaining your presence here in the academy will be seen as an additional insult to Galen. Combining that with your recklessness today, your earlier outbursts… Bree, unless you can get your flame element under control, I suggest you start contemplating a life outside these walls.”
There was no other way to interpret such a statement. Fighting back tears, Bree clicked her feet together, put her arms behind her back, and then bowed.
“Sir, if that is the case, I’d like my additional allotment of fire element canceled.”
There was no hiding the sadness on the headmaster’s face.
“I understand,” he said. “And I’m sorry, Bree. You’ll be missed.”
Bree hurried out from the office, wishing for nothing but solitude. To her surprise, Theotech Vyros stood waiting beside the door, arms crossed.
“Oh,” Bree said, unsure of what else to say as he stared at her with frightening intensity. He loomed above her, and she felt so small, so insignificant as she stepped away. This was not the dull man from the weekly sermons. This was a man with a purpose, whose eyes seemed to see far more than should be possible.
“Try harder to stay safe, Breanna,” Vyros said. “
Gifts can only be repaid by the living, not the dead.”
He offered nothing else, only stared at her as she hurried away, each step quicker than the last as she fled his chilling words.
CHAPTER 21
For the second time that year, Bree knelt before the wall surrounding the academy and touched the names of the dead. Her fingers looped over the name of Gavin Welker, slid past Lily Welsh, and then stopped on the most recent name carved into the stone. Her entire body froze as she stared at it, wishing she could scrub it away, leaving the stone bare and clean. Only former Archons were buried in permanent graves beside the holy mansion, a small tombstone marking their passage from life to death. All others, no matter how rich or poor, were buried in communal graves, their bodies to be broken down and reused in the fields. Those who were members of the academy were given a single remembrance: their name, carved in stone upon the wall, coupled with the year of their death.
DEAN AVERSON, 515 A.A. It was all she had left of him.
Bree’s finger dipped into the D, slowly circling through its smooth indent. They’d held the burial earlier that morning at the communal grave north of the academy, Theotech Vyros presiding over the service. Hundreds had attended, and she wished it was because they’d loved Dean like she had. But no. Dean’s death was just another rallying cry against Galen, a prism for the people of Weshern to shine their hate through.
More fingers brushing the letters. She pretended she didn’t touch stone, but instead his smooth skin, his soft lips, his smiling face. Lost to her. Bree pulled back her hand as if the stone burned her, then struck the wall with her fist, beating it until her hand bled as she sobbed. Lost to her, and for what?
“Was it worth it?” she screamed. “Was it worth losing me for your pride, your damn family pride?”
That’d been the worst of it, the absolute worst. She’d hovered at the back of the congregation, chewing on her tongue to hold back sniffles as Vyros droned on and on about the glories of heaven. She should have gone unnoticed, but Dean’s mom had spotted her before she could leave. Ignoring the others wishing to comfort her, the woman had rushed to Bree and clutched her hands in a vise grip. Her eyes were solid red, her face permanently wet.
“Thank you,” this grieving mother had told her. “Thank you for avenging both my sons.”
Thanking her? Bree should have cut the wings off Dean’s harness, should have latched onto his arms and demanded he never leave her side. Killing Eric had been selfish. Killing him had been mindless hurt and rage. She didn’t want to be thanked. She didn’t deserve that, not from a woman who had just lost everything. It left her sick and confused and fleeing the funeral before the first shovelful of dirt fell across Dean’s carefully wrapped body.
And now this name on the wall. There was nothing she could do to wash it away. Even if she unleashed all her fire from her gauntlet the fire would blacken the stone but not fill in the gaps. DEAN AVERSON, 515 A.A. Never changing. Never coming back. She pressed her forehead against the name and closed her eyes.
“I loved you, Dean,” she whispered, imagining him hearing. “You knew that, right? Because I’d have told you more often, I’d have done more, I’d have… I’d have…”
She cried against the stone amid the cold wind and silence, let the sorrow bleed out of her until her pride forced her to regain control. She’d always considered herself strong. She had to be if she wanted to follow in her parents’ footsteps. But sometimes when the prying eyes were gone, when lost in solitude, she felt like nothing more than breaking, breaking and screaming as she raged against a world she could not strike with her swords nor burn with her fire. A blunted blade. An impotent flame. Perhaps that was all she was, but it didn’t matter. The ghost of Dean would not tell her how to go on. She’d have to do it herself.
Wiping her face clean on her sleeve, she backed away from the wall, giving Dean’s name one last touch. Needing to be doing something, anything, she hurried to the gear sheds and retrieved her swords and wings. Headmaster Simmons had banned her from official practices, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t train on her own. Once outfitted, she flew to the field not far south of the road where Dean’s group had practiced. Long before she reached there, Bree knew something was wrong. Only one person remained, Sasha, a frown locked on the lanky woman’s face as she moved through her stances.
“Where is everyone?” Bree asked, gently landing on her feet.
Sasha spun on her heel, her swords weaving in a jagged, rushed pattern.
“Already done for the day,” she said.
Bree frowned. It was far too early in the morning for them to be finished, especially since most had attended the funeral prior to starting. The group could have worked for half an hour at most, a paltry amount compared to when Dean had kept them going sometimes for hours at a time, swapping dueling partners until they were all exhausted.
“Do you want to spar?” Bree asked. She felt too drained for it, but she craved anything to get her mind off the name carved into the outer wall.
Sasha twirled her swords, then jammed them into their sheaths.
“No, I think I’m done, too.”
Bree felt another wave of tears coming, and she fought it down. Sasha refused to meet her gaze, and the curt way she answered her questions made it seem she were angry. But why?
“You’re mad at me, I get it,” Bree said before Sasha could leave. “Could you at least tell me why?”
Sasha released her ponytail by ripping off the band, then shook her head to loosen her red hair. At last she met Bree’s gaze, and her eyes were bloodshot.
“This was Dean’s group,” she said. “He was the only one who thought swordplay could be something more than a final desperation tactic in battle. The past three years he learned what he could from books, trainers, and Commander Argus himself. And do you know what he gained from all that?”
Sasha tugged on the buckle of her sword belt. When it came loose, she flung the swords to the grass.
“Nothing,” she said. “Dean died, because we don’t fight with swords, we fight with lightning and ice and stone. You, the worst fire user in academy history, managed to kill the person the finest swordsman could not. Yes, Bree, I’m mad, but not at you. I’m mad at myself for wasting my damn time.”
A trail of tears trickled down her cheeks, but Sasha kept her voice controlled. She moved to leave, reconsidered, then picked up her swords and tucked them underneath her left arm. Sasha’s face softened a bit as she put a hand on Bree’s shoulder.
“Go home,” she said. “There’s no place for you in battle, and we all know it. I think you do, too. The time of meeting blade to blade in the skies is gone.”
Bree had no heart to answer. She could barely form words in her tired mind. Sasha’s fingers squeezed her shoulder, an act meant to be comforting, but it felt like she was driving nails into her flesh. No place. Go home. Was that what they wanted of her? Was that what they all wanted?
Bree, I suggest you start contemplating a life outside these walls.
There was no fighting off the tears now. She let them flow as she drew her own swords, pointedly putting her back to Sasha as the woman walked away. Hands shaking, she put her left foot forward and readied her blades. Lips quivering, she shifted, one stance to another, the ghostly image of Dean smiling beside her, urging her on.
Kael was soaking wet when Amanda opened the door to let him in.
“Has Bree come back yet?” he asked, ducking inside.
“No, I’m sorry,” Amanda said, frowning with worry.
Thunder crackled, and as the light flashed over them, Amanda peered over his shoulder at the storm.
“Damn it,” Kael said. “If she does, let her know I’m still looking for her.”
Amanda bobbed her tiny head.
“I will,” she promised.
Taking in a deep breath, Kael tugged at the bottom of his jacket to straighten it and then stepped back out into the storm.
It had rolled in on a cold wind
an hour before, deep black clouds shockingly close to the surface. Lightning crashed within them, the thunder at a constant rumble, but so far the strikes had not hit Weshern. Not that that made Kael feel particularly safe as he ran across the street toward his own apartment. The rain beat down on him, huge drops that stung like insect bites. Any sane person would have found shelter, lit a candle or two, and passed the time. Apparently Kael was not sane, and he blamed his equally insane sister.
She’d come to his room hours after yesterday’s battle. She’d said little, refusing to discuss the fight or her conversation with Headmaster Simmons and the theotechs that followed. He’d expected her to cry, or be furious, something, anything. Instead she sat there, as if his presence was all she wanted. When she left that night to sleep in her own room, Kael couldn’t shake the feeling something was terribly wrong. And then she’d not been there for their morning run, or practices in the fields, or at their classes. As the storm came rolling in, he knew he’d never sleep that night without confirming she was all right. But Bree wasn’t at the library, nor the mess hall, nor her room.
As Kael stood before the door to his room, he rubbed his forehead, realizing there was one place he hadn’t checked.
“I’m going to kill you if you’re out there,” he murmured as he turned away from safety and instead ran west to the training fields. Another stroke of lightning lit up the night, the power of its thunderclap making Kael’s heart jump. Frightening as it was, the lightning gave him his only light to see amid the deep cloud cover and torrential rain. Keeping to the path so he didn’t get lost, he crossed the bridge at the very heart of the academy. Wind gusted, causing his jacket to billow behind him. Kael kept his eyes down and hands raised in a vain attempt to shield his face against the rain.
When he ducked inside the gear sheds, he ran a hand through his wet hair, then flung his arms to shake off some of the water. He was still a dripping mess, but at least he tried. Though it was empty, the shed wasn’t locked, and he walked through the wide spaces, waiting for a lightning strike. When it did, and light flashed through the thin cracks of wood, he confirmed his fear.
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