‘Bah! I don’t have time for this!’ the Lycan growled finally, spinning on his heels to storm out the practice room.
Chapter 18
The Hunter’s training regimen was brutal.
Two sessions, once in the morning before classes and once in the evening before bed. Often times, it was a struggle to just to limp out of the room once they’d finished, let alone drag his sore body to the showers. However, the Hunter treated every session as if it were his first. There was always a problem to be fixed, a chink to be smoothed, and praise was rarely given, if ever.
Any spare time that Nathaniel could grasp, he spent exclusively in the library, poring over the text in Lifting the Veil, until his eyes felt heavy.
He sat, curled up, in one of the alcove’s plush armchairs, his hand outstretched before his eyes.
Picture a door in your mind, between this world and the plane of power. The door is but a fraction ajar and a draft tickles the tip of your nose.
Click.
Grasp the breeze of change, mortal. But gently, for you do not yet realise what you hold, squirming in your grasp.
Click.
The breeze will tempt you. Open the door, it will whisper. Resist you must! For to open that door is to embrace the eye of the storm. A deathly miasma to darken your soul.
Click. Click. Click.
Once temptation is mastered, draw on the breeze, apprentice. Fuel the desires of your mind.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.
Nathaniel’s fingers felt raw.
‘Athrana’s grace!’ Nathaniel cried frustratedly. ‘This stupid book makes no sense!’
As he was about to hurl the book against the wall, a gentle cough caught Nathaniel by surprise.
Turning towards to the gap in the bookcases that made the alcove’s entrance, he found Samir squeezing his wide shoulders through. Guiltily, Nathaniel dropped the book back on the table. Despite Samir’s gentle demeanour, he felt strangely uneasy about what he might do if Nathaniel damaged a book in front of him.
‘I am not aware of this Regal ritual,’ Samir tilted his head curiously at the book in front of Nathaniel.
‘It’s not a Regal ritual,’ Nathaniel said irritably. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I thought perhaps you would like some company?’ the boy proffered the pile of books cradled in his thick arms, all new, Nathaniel suspected.
Nathaniel shrugged indifferently and returned to his book. ‘Do as you wish.’
The boy smiled and took up the seat opposite Nathaniel, arranging his books in neat piles before him.
‘Grasp the breeze of change… grasp the breeze… grasp the breeze…’ he muttered to himself, over and over. How can I grasp what I can’t see? He snorted. Zaine would love this book, he thought derisively.
Nathaniel held out his hand and closed his eyes.
He pictured a door. Ornate, with inscriptions in the wood, and a solid brass door knob.
The door knob twisted slowly. Then, with a tired groan, the door opened.
A wave of emotions struck Nathaniel. A feeling of such completeness filled him from head to toe.
He waggled his fingers before him, chuckling at the tingling sensation that tickled his fingertips.
Gods alive, I feel… incredible.
The door creaked open a fraction more. Whatever lay behind it was still shadowed from Nathaniel’s eyes.
Perhaps if I can open it just a little more…
The breeze will tempt you.
The door melted away abruptly as Nathaniel’s eyes flew open.
Nathaniel’s sudden disconnection from the source left such a feeling of loss, he almost collapsed where he sat. The warmth flooding from his fingertips, leaving him cold at the core.
‘Regal!’
Nathaniel looked down from his outstretched hands in horror.
Books were scattered in a spiral around the room but it was the table that caught his attention. Flames crawled greedily across its surface, licking away at the wood.
‘Athrana’s grace!’ Nathaniel jumped up, almost stumbling backwards over his own chair.
‘What did you do?’ Samir bellowed.
‘I don’t know!’ Nathaniel yelled back.
The fire was showing no signs of stopping as it spread to the table’s legs, creeping ever closer to the red carpet.
Nathaniel began clicking furiously at the table but, no matter how hard he pictured the open door in his mind, the feeling would not return.
Samir had taken one of the cushions from his chair and began beating the flames against the table from a distance. Soon after, the pillow too was abandoned to the fire.
‘Get help!’ Nathaniel shouted.
‘What?’ Samir said.
‘I said–’
The flames suddenly extinguished before their very eyes, as if a bathtub of water had been emptied atop it. Smoke fizzled up in corkscrews away from the charred table-top.
Nathaniel looked at his hands confusedly. As far as he was aware he had not touched the source, could he have done it by accident?
‘Which of the two of you did this?’ a voice said coldly.
Nathaniel looked up from his hands and felt his stomach drop.
Eyes burning more fiercely than the fire he’d caused, Thorne Grey filled the gap between the bookcases, his hands shaking.
Nathaniel glanced at Samir, who sat frozen in a crouch, with a book under his arm and a hand placed on another.
The boys held their silence, neither of them daring to breathe.
‘Who. Did. This?’ Thorne demanded, each word grating on the boys’ senses.
Nathaniel raised his hand meekly, refusing to meet his Grandfather’s eyes, for fear they might set him alight.
‘My office,’ Thorne said. ‘Both of you. Now.’
*
‘How long have you been practicing this?’ Thorne pointed at the book he’d taken from the now severely burnt table. It inexplicably appeared to have been untouched by the flames. ‘How long?’
‘Just now,’ Nathaniel lied.
Thorne’s eyes narrowed.
‘Maybe a few days…’ Nathaniel said quietly.
‘A few days?’ Thorne echoed him incredulously.
As much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, Nathaniel couldn’t help but feel nervous, as he looked into the fiery amber of his Grandfather’s eyes. Samir must have felt the same, as he kept his eyes fixed on his knees, as he shifted about and tugged at a handful of his braids. Either that or, perhaps, he was simply uncomfortable without a book to hand. Thorne alternated between dry washing his hands and looking furiously in Nathaniel’s direction, as he paced the length of the office.
‘I really don’t see what the problem is–’ Nathaniel began.
‘YOU DON’T SEE THE PROBLEM?’
The amber in Thorne’s eyes threatened to erupt.
‘But I–’
‘YOU SET THE DAMN TABLE ON FIRE!’
‘I only–’
‘YOU READ A FEW CHAPTERS AND THOUGHT YOU COULD WIELD MAJIK? YOU COULD HAVE TURNED THE LIBRARY TO ASHES!’
‘Thorne, I–’
‘WORSE! YOU COULD HAVE HARMED YOURSELF! OR SAMIR!’ Thorne waved his arm toward the Scorched boy, who looked even more uncomfortable at being mentioned. ‘THIS IS WHY THEY SHACKLE WARLOCKS IN THE DAMN SPIRE! YOU COULD HAVE– YOU–’
Thorne inhaled deeply and began knuckling his forehead. When he spoke again, it was far more measured, though his voice still shook.
‘Was it just Samir that saw you?’ Thorne inquired softly.
‘Yes,’ Nathaniel replied.
Samir nodded.
‘No one else knows?’
‘No one. I swear!’
‘Did anyone teach you beforehand? Or offer to?’
‘No!’
‘So, no one gave you the book? You just… found it?’
The woman in the maroon dress flashed briefly to mind. Nathaniel wasn’t sure if it had been her book.
She technically hadn’t given him the book. But she hadn’t made any effort to get it back either.
Thorne’s eyes narrowed, as he considered Nathaniel’s words for a moment. Methodically tapping his fingers against the book’s cover. Nathaniel had no idea what amount of bravery compelled him to speak but the words seemed determined to tumble from his mouth.
‘Teach me,’ Nathaniel said. His tongue may have been willing but his lips resisted against the attempt, foolish or not.
‘What?’ Thorne lifted his head from his hand.
‘Teach me,’ he insisted. ‘I know you were a Warlock,’ Nathaniel stupidly added.
Thorne’s face told Nathaniel he had made a mistake. Probably of epic proportions, as it flashed from horror, through confusion, and on to intense fury.
‘Who–’ Thorne’s voice had taken on a deathly calm, which somehow managed to be even more terrifying than when it was raised. ‘–told–’ the book trembled in Thorne’s grasp. ‘–you–’ both Nathaniel and Samir edged back. ‘–tha–’
A sudden knock at the door caught Thorne mid-sentence.
Brother Marcus burst through before Thorne could even ask who had knocked.
‘Brother… I am in the middle of somethi–’ Thorne paused, raising his eyebrows at the brown-haired man before him, whose face was half-drenched in blood from a gash above his right eye.
‘Marcus…Who has done this to you? I thought you and Garrett had settled your differences?’
Another time Marcus may have laughed, yet here he actually looked very concerned.
‘This was not Garrett’s doing Brother. We have a problem – it concerns the boy too,’ he nodded at Nathaniel. He seemed oddly relieved that Nathaniel was there.
Thorne frowned and gave Nathaniel a searching look.
What must he think I’ve done now? Nathaniel thought exasperatedly. He watched the blood trickling onto Marcus’ chin and felt a pang of guilt. What have I done now?
‘What’s happened, Marcus? If not Garrett, who did this to you?’
‘Never mind that. You need to come with me, Brother, both of you. I’ve locked her in my office.’
‘We have an intruder?’ Thorne asked, eyes wide.
‘She?’ Nathaniel said, ‘who’s she?’
‘No time to explain, just follow me.’
Marcus burst out of the room, the door swinging behind him.
‘We’ll finish this discussion later,’ Thorne growled back at both boys. He was already out the door as soon as the last word had left his lips.
Nathaniel and Samir shared a look, each pushing back the lumps rising against their throats, and followed Thorne out of the door.
Chapter 19
Thorne strode on ahead, with the two boys half-jogging to keep up. His hands were balled into tight fists as he whispered furiously to Brother Marcus.
“She,” Marcus had said. Why had he not spoken her name? Had she been the one to give him that cut? And why was it important that he came?
The Lycans they passed on the way seemed amazed to see Thorne outside of his office. Nonetheless, they quickly scrambled out of his way the moment they caught sight of his eyes.
He’s still angry about the damn book, Nathaniel thought. But why? He couldn’t be that mad over a burnt table?
‘Has he ever been that angry before?’ he whispered to Samir.
The Scorched boy appeared to think on Nathaniel’s question, before going suddenly pale.
Great.
They stopped outside a door not too far from Sister Mire’s hospital wing.
‘She’s in here?’ Thorne nodded at the door.
‘Yes, Brother,’ Marcus said, ‘the girl insisted on seeing Nathaniel when she awoke. At least, that is who I imagined she was referring to…’ he said, taking a swift glance in Nathaniel’s direction.
‘What do you mean?’ Nathaniel frowned.
Thorne shot Nathaniel a swift look, forcing him to avert his eyes.
‘You have her bound?’ Thorne said.
‘And relieved of all her weapons. Believe me I checked. Thoroughly,’ Brother Marcus said earnestly. The cut above his eye was still bleeding profusely.
Thorne thumbed his lip as he considered this then turned to Nathaniel. ‘I need you to go in,’ he said.
‘Me?’ Nathaniel said. He’d imagined Thorne would be the one to go in. Or at least all of them together.
‘Yes. If Marcus has her as well restrained as he says, you’ll be entirely safe.’
Nathaniel raised his brows.
And if he hasn’t?
‘Thorne, are you sure about this?’ Marcus said cautiously. ‘The girl’s a complete unknown.’
‘I trust you’ve contained the situation, Marcus. But, right now, we need information. Who she is, why she came here, and, importantly,’ he said, turning to Nathaniel, with a concerned expression, ‘why she was expecting to find you.’
Marcus nodded along but appeared no less uncomfortable with the idea.
‘Will you go in?’ Thorne asked Nathaniel. His tone suggesting the matter wasn’t entirely up for debate. He glanced at Samir who, as subtly as he could, shook his head warningly.
Ozin’s Throne! What will I find inside? Nathaniel turned to Thorne, took a deep breath, and nodded.
Samir let out an almost inaudible groan.
Nathaniel placed his hand against the door and pushed it slightly ajar. Just wide enough for him to squeeze through.
‘You’ll be safe, Nathaniel,’ Brother Marcus reassured him. Though, the Lycan didn’t seem overly convinced.
Nathaniel took a deep breath, then slipped inside.
Brother Marcus’ office was smaller than Thorne’s and, in truth, far messier. The room smelled of ink, parchment… and something Nathaniel couldn’t quite place but hoped was dead. Papers and books were stacked in unstable towers – so high, they grazed the ceiling, almost forming an archway of their own – on either side of Marcus’ desk. A few pages had been nailed to the few spaces on the walls that were visible behind the books. Some containing beautifully hand-drawn portraits and sketches, and others wild, almost indecipherable scribbles.
A lone candle, amidst piles of paper, illuminated Marcus’ desk. The piles clearly separated hastily to make space for it. While the flickering light the candle emitted seemed to barely brighten the area around it, Nathaniel was immediately aware of the pair of startlingly blue eyes that were fixed on him. Keen as daggers, under thick brows that made her eyes seem all the more sharp.
A scowl darkened her features.
Although she hadn’t been kept in solitude for long, Nathaniel got the impression that his arrival had only made matters worse. She had been bound tightly to the chair with rope. Uncomfortably so, if the twist of her lips was anything to go by. Like Brey, her blonde hair was plaited but in one long braid, which fell below the desk and out of sight. Unlike Brey, however, her face was tightly drawn, there was no playful smile for him.
‘Kinslayer,’ the Regal hissed.
Nathaniel felt himself wince.
So, she knew of the Emperor’s death and what the Szar had likely told everyone of him. Yet he didn’t recognise her in the slightest.
‘Who are you?’ Nathaniel said.
‘You don’t know?’ the girl seemed surprised by that.
‘I assume it was you who gave Brother Marcus that cut?’
‘Brother Marcus,’ she grimaced. ‘Gods, you’re already speaking like those animals.’
Nathaniel felt his cheeks go red. He hadn’t even realised what he’d said.
‘What’s your name?’ Nathaniel said hurriedly.
‘An interrogation from the Kinslayer… lovely,’ the girl rolled her eyes.
Nathaniel frowned. Had the girl not asked for him like Marcus had said? What do you want from me?
‘This isn’t an interrogation,’ Nathaniel protested.
‘Then unbind me,’ she said.
Nath
aniel began to move towards the desk but found himself hesitating. The girl may have been unarmed but it seemed highly unwise an idea to free her.
‘No?’ her lip curled, ‘I thought not.’
‘Broth– the Lycans… they want to know why you would come here. How did you even find this place?’ Nathaniel looked at the Regal questioningly.
‘I didn’t.’
‘Then how did you get in here?’
‘I followed one of your precious Lycans, Kinslayer.’
‘Inside Sanctuary?’
‘Is that what they call this hovel?’
Nathaniel took a deep breath. The girl’s short replies were beginning to get on his nerves.
‘Did it feel good?’ the girl asked.
‘What?’
‘Did you feel good when you murdered the Emperor?’
Not this again. The memory of his brother’s accusations were still horribly fresh in his mind. He could almost picture Solas before him, eyes cold and accusing.
‘I didn’t kill Tolken,’ Nathaniel said quietly.
‘I suppose you didn’t try and kill your father either,’ she said coldly.
‘I DIDN’T KILL ANYONE!’
Nathaniel didn’t realised he had crossed the room, until his fists had smacked against Marcus’ desk. The girl flinched, as if she had been slapped.
‘I didn’t kill anyone,’ he said, more measuredly this time.
She leaned forward.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she whispered.
Nathanial swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he gripped the desk. He was not quite sure how, but the girl’s words managed to be more scathing than his brother’s. He turned his back on the Regal and went to the door.
‘Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, Kinslayer,’ the girl said gloatingly. ‘If I can find you, so can anyone else.’
He took one last glance back at the girl, as he closed the door behind him, feeling a shiver trickle down the length of his spine. The girl’s eyes may as well have been two searing hot balls of flame, for the way she glowered at him. Nathaniel was surprised they didn’t burn right through the door. While the Lycans were wary of him, and it was clear some disliked him, none of them came close to the level of contempt he had felt, when he’d looked into his fellow Regal’s eyes.
Nathaniel Grey and the Obsidian Crown Page 11
