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Shit. Fuck.
Alfie won’t protect Geraldine if he thinks I gave her the stone to deflect attention from me. I climb the staircase, tugging my braid when I read the motto beneath the house shield: Forged in Will.
There’s no way Sylvanar will give up the hunt to find his son.
I sit on the outer ring of the lecture-style circular room, ensuring I can watch Geraldine and Max. Peggy has an alternate class. We all look outside the arched window when a beastly screech rattles the foundations. The Baleful Hunt flies overhead, spilling pebbles and rocks over the woods like falling cannonballs. The crunch of breaking branches makes me cringe.
Not long after, the Earl descends the staircase. The stocky, chiseled leader walks to the side of the curved room, where they use different varieties of gemstones for teaching. An atmosphere of defeat clings to him. He rearranges the collection. It seems an innocuous task, but I can tell from the tension in his posture that he uses it to calm himself down.
The Tactical Warfare class is the most redundant. It’s all about using fortifications and barriers to withstand enemy assaults. But a frozen watergate is the only physical barrier that stops a Nightmare from attacking. It almost feels like this class was just a filler when they made the schedule.
When Alfie arrives, he’s accompanied by Goodfellow, who stands to the side and watches proceedings with a careful eye. Sylvanar notices him, scowls, and snatches a stack of pamphlets from his lectern. He strolls around the room, tossing one at each student.
“Given whispered stirrings of... disquiet... the Court of Dreams has graciously proclaimed a merry celebration to lift spirits to the delightful and sweet amusements for which the Solstice Exhibition is renowned.”
Murmurs of excitement ripple around the room. Anticipation rides my nerves, filling me with twitchy energy. When I receive mine, the room is almost in an uproar. It’s just another feast.
Sylvanar’s footsteps stop. Heart seizing, I glance up from the pamphlet. He stands before Geraldine, eyes cold like granite, chiseled features unmoving.
“You—Nothing. Where did you get that charm?”
Geraldine’s eyes widen. He grabs her by the scruff and lifts her unceremoniously from her seat.
“Lord Sylvanar.” Goodfellow’s warning tone slices through the air, but the Earl ignores him.
He shakes Geraldine like a rag doll, snarling, “I remember your scarred face from last week. This charm is new. Who gave it to you?”
“Me!” I shoot to my feet. “I gave it to her.”
He drops her, rips the charm from her pocket, and stalks toward me. Goodfellow continues to bark warnings for him tocease his subterranean behavior. I give Sylvanar an explanation before he reaches me.
“I don’t know how I got it, so don’t ask. It was simply in my possession when I left the, ah, place that shouldn’t be named?”
Even though I'm sure everyone knows of B.A.R., I don't want to be the one who says the name aloud and appears foolish.
“You lie.” He shakes his fist in my face. “If it is yours, then why is it keyed to her? The gods know you need it more with that face.”
My face? But I thought the curse was gone. My fingers probe the skin and slide along the scars. To my horror, the thin slivers feel knotted and engorged again. The angle of my nose is incorrect.
A glance at Geraldine proves her glamour has fallen and her burn scars are back on display. She won’t look at me. Max tries to console her, but every strained line in her body tells me she struggles to hold it together.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “It’s a mystery.”
He leans in until he’s an inch from my face. “Tell me now, or I’ll fetch the Baleful Hunt. Then we’ll see how fast you?—”
“Earl Lord Sylvanar!” Goodfellow’s bellow rattles the walls. He tugs at his vest and visibly calms. “Unless you wish to face irreversible consequences for breaking the code, cease your unsavory behavior immediately.”
Sylvanar turns on him, a manic, unhinged glint in his eyes. “I am the one who dishes out punishment, boy. You cannot threaten me with consequences.”
Goodfellow approaches him and whispers so low I’m sure he doesn’t think anyone can hear. “Your dragon bond can be passed to another. You are not irreplaceable. Now, kindly calm yourself, read the pamphlet, and remember there are more civil ways to get what you need.”
He holds out his palm, and Sylvanar begrudgingly hands over the gemstone.
“Continue proceedings,” Goodfellow says, more loudly this time. “See me afterward. We have much to discuss.”
I settle into silence for the rest of the class. When it’s time to leave, I chase after Geraldine.
“Don’t expect a thanks,” she snaps. “I never would have been in that position if it wasn’t for you.”
