Mage’s balls on a stick, were even angels musical in this day and age?
I jumped, and my magic exploded from me like twinkling fireworks. They lit the shadowy room, as the rousing music swelled with bells and cannon blasts.
Sleipnir collapsed on his back with laughter, as Mist blew his own aquamarine fire to add to the light show. “Hey, look, it’s the fourth of July! Do you want me to grab my guitar? I’d win this if it’s a music lesson.”
“Are you certain?” Willoughby arched his brow.
Sleipnir leaned forward. “Bring it on, pointy ears.”
Ezekiel landed in the middle of the circle, and the music shut off. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but this is Strategy class. The lesson of this music from the non-magical world is that even an Emperor can be brought down by nature. It tells the story of Napoleon marching on Russia and being defeated by their winter.” His gaze darted to me, and I flushed. You curse one academy with perpetual winter and suddenly you’re the bad guy… “Well, line up then.”
He fluttered his wings impatiently, but his smile was gentle.
Fox pulled me up. I was surprised that it was Willoughby, however, who slipped his hand around Bask’s waist and helped him to stand next to him. Bask looked unsteady. The touch deprivation must be hurting him now.
How much longer before the Duchess visited?
Lysander stood next to them, and his back was so straight that I thought it wise to check whether there was a stick stuck up his behind. When I leaned to check out his unfairly tight buns, Sleipnir frowned, catching my eye. Then he waggled his eyebrows at me in amusement.
I raised a haughty eyebrow, although I allowed Mist to settle on my shoulder with a stroke of his mane because I was decidedly gracious like that.
Lysander glared at me, outraged. Perhaps he was auditioning for the part of Napoleon.
Ezekiel marched down the line, as if he was an officer inspecting our eccentric parade. He stopped at Sleipnir, who slouched like he was at a punk concert. Ezekiel did up Sleipnir’s tie with sharp, efficient motions.
Sweet Hecate, that was the first time that I’d seen Sleipnir smartened up, and he looked hot in a tie. What would he look like in a suit?
I sighed. A witch could dream, surely?
I was already in my evening dress, and my own corset bit into my bosoms like they were trying to make them stand up for inspection. They were impressive. I pushed out my chest further.
“I did explain to you last time that you were an army?” Ezekiel sounded troubled. “That it’s my job to train you as assassins to be sent on—”
“Dirty missions. We’ll probably die. Teamwork.” Bask pouted up at Ezekiel with his innocent face at full blast. I defied anybody to resist that. “Does it please you that we were listening, professor?”
Ezekiel looked like he was biting his tongue…hard. Then he crossed his arms. “I’m here to teach you to survive, and that means more than how to swing a sword or do that swirly stuff with your mist.” I sniffed: impolite. “There’s more to being royal than becoming the most powerful,” his gaze swept to Willoughby who froze, “and more to war than drawing blood.”
When Ezekiel’s gaze swung to Lysander, the prince stiffened.
It was hard to hate the two princes, when they struggled with the same darkness as I did. Yet then my gaze fell on the pale curve of Midnight’s back, as he knelt in the shadows and the robins fluttered around his shoulders to console him, it was rather easy to hate them again.
“How about more to revenge than poking fae with iron…?” Lysander drawled.
Bask examined his fingernails. “Lay off, I said that I was sorry. Do you wish that my slinky self gets on my knees?”
His innocent self wasn’t kidding anyone now.
Lysander reddened. “Please don’t. I wish instead that you’d remember your place. One happens to be a true prince, and not that travesty of a clone.”
Bask winced.
Ezekiel beat his wings. “You happen to be a deposed prince.” This time it was Lysander’s turn to wince. Now that was a put-down worthy of a witch. “I swear that I told you to stick together as a team. Anyway, it helps for today because who’s up for a little role-play?”
Sleipnir groaned. “Lightning strike me now.”
Lysander glanced up at the roof hopefully. “Yes, please.”
“I wasn’t praying, twinkle wings.” Sleipnir glared at Lysander, who didn’t even have the good grace to hide his disappointment. “Couldn’t we just write a twenty-thousand-word essay or take a surprise exam instead?”
Wait, those options sounded appalling. Why was Sleipnir sacrificing us on the academic altar?
My heart thudded hard in my chest. Fox looked as panicked as me. His hand tightened around mine.
“I’ve never written a thousand-word essay,” Fox muttered, “or taken an exam that I’ve crammed for, and for once, that’s the truth. Great Pan, I don’t want to die. I’m one dead foxy, aren’t I?”
“I promise that I’ll protect you,” I whispered; his fingers were warm, entwined between my cold ones. “Even from an essay.”
Bask’s grin was wicked, as he ran his hands down his sides. “Role-play could be fun. Tell me what do you desire? Stern teacher and naughty student. I’ve arrived late to the lesson, and you have no option but to punish—”
“The wrong kind of role-play.” Ezekiel had pinked all the way down his chest. He wrapped his wings around himself but he couldn’t hide the way that his prick tented his harem trousers. Perhaps, he’d enjoy joining us for a little teacher and student get together? Although, it was possible that he’d act it out right now on Sleipnir by the way that his sparking gaze met his. “Don’t frighten the others. Just because you struggle with my learning methods, doesn’t mean that the rest will. I want two of you to step forward. The Prince will act out their kingdom’s take on leadership. They will role play,” Sleipnir snorted, “not their own views but the ones of those who brought them up. The Immortal facing them will counter their view with their own.”
My brows furrowed. “Why?”
Ezekiel swept to the far wall, leaning against it. “How can you fight against your enemy, if you don’t first understand them?” When his gaze met mine, there was an understanding that shook me. “And how do you persuade them to your side, if you don’t listen first?”
Bask pushed himself forward. “Let me do this.”
When Bask’s knees buckled, however, and Willoughby caught him, I smiled. Bask was beautiful, mesmerizing, and as brave as any of the Rebels.
“How about you work on keeping upright, and Lysander and I make this a Prefect battle?” I cocked my eyebrow at Lysander.
Lysander’s mouth tightened, and he paled. But as the rest of the Rebels formed a circle, he marched to meet me in the center with his hands held smartly behind his back.
“You’ll regret this.” Tremors ran through him, even though he held himself still. “This is a violation. The Fae Court should not be questioned in such a fashion.”
“Have we started yet?” I asked. “Or is that just your usual arrogant ranting?”
Lysander hissed in frustration, before lowering his head and steadying his breathing. When he raised his head again, however, I gasped in shock. His eyes were cold in a way that I’d never seen before. His face looked paler and pinched. He stood even stiffer than before, and witching heavens, I hadn’t thought that was possible. “Royalty have a duty to act as though above all others.” I flinched in shock. It was the same cruel voice that Midnight had spoken with in Divination. “If they fail, then they bring disgrace and shame on their entire kingdom. There can be no forgiveness for such fae. Royalty must crush all rebellion before there’s a chance for war. Fae must obey the hierarchy and respect it, even if that means killing.”
Lysander’s wings quivered, and sweat slipped down his forehead.
It was hurting him to say those things. Sweet Hecate, Lysander truly was a Rebel.
My eyes widened. �
��You don’t believe any of that.”
To my surprise, I was certain that he didn’t.
Lysander raised a haughty brow. “The purpose of the exercise is that you now counter with your views, rather than pretend to know my illustrious thoughts.”
Fox watched me intently, and I caught his eye. Well, if Lysander wished us to play it this way, then there was more than one way to skin a fae.
“What if you’re given an order that you can’t follow?” When Lysander flinched, I grinned. Got you. “It’s not disgraceful to think for yourself, treat others as equals, or value life. What if the order is to kill other fae, and you know that it’s wrong? Wouldn’t it make you less of a prince simply to follow such a command blindly?”
Lysander’s eyes were wild with fear, and his breathing was ragged. “One doesn’t wish to play this game anymore.”
“Then you forfeit the lesson to the Immortals?” Ezekiel said, casually.
At last I understood why Sleipnir had requested to be struck by lightning. Role-play was fiendish.
Lysander twisted to stare at Midnight, who’d hunched over, covering himself with his wings. Lysander shook his head.
Ezekiel gestured with his hand. “Your turn then.”
“It’s just…” Lysander took a step closer to me. He appeared lost. “… What if you lose everything by rebelling?”
My dress faded to mist, which darkened the room to fog at the memory. “I beg your pardon; did you forget already? I died, or is there more you’d have me lose?”
“You can lose more than your life,” Willoughby said, softly.
I glanced at the elf, and then I thought of burnished red hair and intense emerald eyes and I realized that he was right.
Lysander ducked his head. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no way back for a fae who disobeys.”
“If you’ve killed—”
“That’s what you think of me?” Lysander snarled, and even his anger was swallowed by his hurt.
Why did I feel such guilt squirming in my gut? Perhaps, I’d better hold back with answering what was on the tip of my tongue: ehm, of course; you’re Titus’ nephew.
Unfortunately, the words must’ve been written across my face because Lysander stormed out of the middle of the circle, clutching Willoughby by the arm and dragging him to me.
“Why am I spurned, whilst you snuggle up to this other deposed prince?” He shook Willoughby, who didn’t even try to free himself.
“Let Willoughby go, or you shall discover just how far I’m prepared to go for my new snuggle buddy,” my voice was calm, yet my magic whipped around the Bird Turret.
The mural of Hecate’s Tree reached out from the walls. The branches reached to snatch at the fae, curling around his wings and hoisting him into the air.
“Why?” Lysander demanded, struggling. “I thought that you were just arguing against killers?”
Willoughby hung his head, and his hair covered his eyes.
My magic calmed, and the mural slipped back into the wall, dropping Lysander onto his behind with a crack that made me wince.
Cauldrons and broomsticks, all of us in this academy were dangerous, deadly, and broken. Who was I to judge?
I was the wicked witch, after all.
Suddenly, there was a waterfall of crows feathers on the far wall, and Damelza strode through with a flourish. Her hair glistened like it’d been polished, and her dress was ruffled, as if a hundred more crows had been slaughtered to give her the effect.
Adrenaline spiked through me, as my lips pinched. Henrietta had smartened herself up (and Byron and me), whenever there’d been special events with guests. I had the horrid feeling that no dangers inside the academy were as acute as those from the Rebels’ own families.
When Damelza’s critical gaze swept across our tense role-play with a prince on his behind, the word killers ringing in the air, and my own magic still thrumming in the mural, yet rested on Bask… I was certain that knock, knock, the Duchess had arrived.
Bask became ashen, hugging himself because I couldn’t. I bit my lip hard. Willoughby turned to catch my eye, before standing in front of Bask like he could shield him for me.
Like he wasn’t a killer.
When Sleipnir edged to join Willoughby in Bask protection duty so close that their shoulders touched, Willoughby’s eyes widened as if he’d never expected that any Immortal would willingly stand at his side. Perhaps, it was more that he was startled that anyone would risk touching him casually…? Lysander only handled Willoughby like a guard would, pulling him from class to class.
When Fox attempted the same protection of me, my lips twitched. Shimage didn’t beat centuries old Blessedly Charmed witch. Yet it was charming that he wished to be my knight.
I clasped Fox’s hand, tugging him closer to my side; Mist leaped from my shoulder onto his, tossing his mane. “I love you as my equal,” I whispered. “One that I’ll always fight to save.”
Lysander was the only Rebel to be stranded alone. He paled; his eyes were red-rimmed. He pushed himself up, standing under Damelza’s inspection, as if he had an even larger stick up his behind than before.
He truly should get that looked into.
“Well, I’m shocked.” Damelza’s eyes glittered. “You’re supposed to be learning together for excellence, professor. This isn’t Warrior Training. Why’s there brawling and disorder in your class?”
Ezekiel swallowed. He straightened, curling his wings around himself like he could hide.
“It’s just role-play,” he offered with a shaky smile. “It’s not real.”
“Do I need to give your wings the same treatment as Professor Ambrose’s?” Damelza stalked closer.
“It was all part of the lesson,” I insisted.
“Yeah, we love role-play; it’s awesome.” Sleipnir grinned, but Damelza ignored him.
Instead, she turned to Lysander. “As you know, it’s one of your Guardian’s orders that you don’t lie to staff. So, was this lesson controlled?” I frowned, when Damelza’s gaze darted between both Willoughby and me. “You should know how important it is that powers are restrained.”
Like Hecate’s Tree bursting out of a mural…?
Ah, sweet unrestrained magic.
Ezekiel’s shoulders slumped, and his wings drooped like they were already weighted down by chains. If he was relying on Lysander’s good report to avoid Damelza’s punishment, then he had a mage’s hope in witchy hell.
“Ezekiel’s classes are tough,” Lysander’s voice was clipped, and he stared at the far wall, rather than meeting Damelza’s eye. “He finds your weakness and then he pushes at it. The others think that he’s kind and gentle. But my royal self has lived in the Fae Court, and I know how to read predators. For Ezekiel to have survived to become a teacher, he must be ruthless. He’s as much a warrior with manipulation as he is with weapons. Today, he was merely attempting to teach us to face the monsters that haunt us.”
Ezekiel’s violet eyes opened comically large. He burrowed even further into his wings, as if he could hide from Lysander, who’d stripped him bare.
Why had Lysander saved the professor? It was strange to stare at the prince’s pale face and feel a flush of pride.
To my surprise, Damelza’s lips curved into a smile, as she drew out a sky-blue sheet of paper. “I’m delighted that even a shameful Addict Angel can achieve such a report. I’ll add it to your records, professor.” Ezekiel nodded, mechanically. “It’s perfect timing that you’ve been working on the monsters within, when so many of your students are monsters.”
Even though Sleipnir didn’t move, Mist stomped his feet and laid his ears back. I knew that she’d hurt Sleipnir, but it was Willoughby who dived towards her, so fast that she stumbled backward.
“My brother’s letter,” Willoughby demanded with such frosty violence that I shook, “give it to me.”
Well, someone had just shown their regal side.
Damelza’s magic slammed into Willoughby, hurling him thro
ugh the air. He crashed into Sleipnir, who caught him and helped him back onto his feet.
Damelza stalked towards Willoughby, holding aloft the letter like a standard.
“It’s his letter,” Fox’s voice was tight. I remembered the way that Damelza had forced him to write to Aquilo. “People who mess with other folk’s post are haunted by the spirits of dead postmen. I’d hand it over now if you don’t want to be haunted forever by late mail, sorry, you were out slips, and lost packages. I mean, it’s your call.”
“I’ll risk it.” Damelza broke the seal on the letter with a flourish.
“Let me read it later, if I must,” Willoughby hissed.
“You’d make a king wait?” Damelza arched her brow. “Who do you think you are? Oh yes, the would-be king.”
I studied Willoughby. Had he tried to assassinate his own brother to take the throne? Yet the way that his jaw clenched told me that I was missing something because would an assassin feel such shame?
“Let him read it,” I said, softly. “I don’t need to know what he did to be sentenced here. We’re all Rebels, and that unites us. Call us monsters if you like because I’d claim that name over the bloody House of Crows.”
Damelza drew in a shocked breath, before her eyes flashed pink with fury. “In your first life, you were a sheltered, naïve witch, and now, you believe yourself the wicked witch. But you’ve seen nothing of the true darkness in the supernatural world. I have, and maybe you wouldn’t be so keen to call yourself monster, if you knew what it meant.”
When she held up the letter, Willoughby let out a holler. The contents were projected in curling letters across the indigo of the roof; the robins fluttered in panic, diving away to hide.
Brother,
As much as it pains me to even think of you, I write this letter to urge you to listen to your professors, control your murderous urges, and curb your dangerous impulses.
Every day, the kingdom calls for your execution. You deserve to die. I’m certain that you believe a killer should pay for their crime. Yet you’re royal, even if deposed, and so I must settle for imprisonment.
Rebel Academy: Crave: A Paranormal Academy Romance Series (Wickedly Charmed Book 1) Page 29
