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“You never asked for my name,” I interject.
“Nothings don’t have names,” he snaps, cold eyes spearing me for longer than appropriate. He turns to the class and continues. “Or so we’ve been told. They reject harmony and light. They are the dark blight tarnishing the pristine purity of the Cauldron’s eternal Wellspring. They are the enemy, yet”—he dramatically lifts a finger—“one has somehow ensnared the attention of our esteemed military leaders. One might also postulate that, to receive such attention, these two Shadows stand on equal ground regarding refinement and grace.” He pauses for effect. “Something doesn’t quite add up, does it? One could also assume more lurks beneath the surface.” He gives me a withering stare. I catch tears glimmering in Geraldine’s eyes and remember I’m not the only one he’s insulting here. “Is it enchantment? A beguiling trick? Are we peering into the murky eyes of a Terror in Radiant clothing right this minute?”
Gasps fraught with fear fill the air.
I should receive a medal for resisting an eye roll at his theatrics.
The Marquess continues, “Is she simply biding her time until we least expect an attack? Perhaps during a wander in the woods alone, a quick nap in her presence, or a daydream... and she will rip out your throats when you least expect it.”
Hatred simmers hotter than the lava-like veins between granite. It’s clear he’s setting me up for humiliation, or at thevery least, hopes I’ll move up the list of Nothing targets for assassination. But do I dare take the bait? Will acting out serve my revenge purpose, or do the opposite? Maybe I should skip classes altogether. I might get at least two days of freedom before Peablossom tracks me down. Two days to explore the castle, cause some havoc, and maybe even figure out what in the Well’s name is going on with the Sluagh.
“Now take Shadow Dahlia Villa, for instance,” he drawls, eyes filling with desire as he takes his fill of her body. “What a stunning specimen of perfection. The complete opposite of the Nothing.”
“Willow,” I growl through clenched teeth. “Mynameis Willow, not theNothing.”
He ignores me and strides into Dahlia’s personal space, inspecting her so closely that he probably sees down her open-collared shirt. She wears a size too small, so her breasts almost burst the buttons.
“One would assume Shadow Villa’s charms draw her exquisite beauty directly from the Cauldron itself. Such flawlessness can’t possibly be innate unless it belongs to a Radiant.” He suddenly inhales, snapping out of his bewitched daze to continue. “And if her charms are harnessed for beauty, then it’s safe to presume her paramount talent must reside in her martial prowess or mental acuity. The point is, my fledgling flames—” He yanks her Chaser chain from her uniform. Gemstones and crystals scatter to the mat. Gasping at the violation, her hand flutters to her chest as if he’d ripped off her shirt. But her appearance doesn’t change, which I suspect must be common if some charms hold glamour.
Flow charms or stones, Wellsprings, wisps... the similarities are stronger now. We might have different words in Elphyne, but the theory behind our source of power is the same. Knowing this flips a switch inside me, instantly grounding me.
Ignarius murmurs to Dahlia, “You may retrieve your charms, darling.”
He rattles on for another few minutes, delving into a fable about a snake who dares to believe a pretty bird isn’t a bird or something. I wonder if we’ll actually spar or if this male just loves the sound of his voice.
When silence becomes pronounced, I realize I’ve missed a cue. Everyone stares at me expectantly. I glance at Dahlia. Her charms are threaded back onto her chain, but it’s now wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet.
“Give me your best shot, Nothing,” she taunts.
“What?”
“You’re the savage. You go first. Everyone knows Dreams don’t start trouble.”
“Oh, come on,” I groan. “Give me a break from the righteous bullshit.”
Hands fly to mouths as delicate sensibilities are bruised. How in the Well’s name will any of these people survive a violent tournament, let alone a battlefield? But then I notice some Chasers aren’t shocked—the ones who must have competed before and served time in the military. Hardness in their eyes separates them from the naivety of others. As most wear charms, I assume their battle scars are hidden. Some could have been permanently erased by their Radiants, just as my Aunt Ada heals a wound as if it never existed... if she gets to it on time.
Goodfellow’s missing eyebrows come to mind, and I wonder if they’re a battle scar. It occurs to me that as Dahlia’s Radiant, Ignarius knows full well what her charms do. Didn’t Fox say something about Alfie’s newly gifted charms now that he is a Shadow? And now he watches me like a hawk.
Why do I feel like this is a trap?
Chapter
Twenty-Five
WILLOW
Tingling skin warns me to duck before Dahlia strikes with her fist. A breeze brushes past my hair as she misses. The close call sends my heart racing, pumping adrenaline into my veins. Wide awake now, I dance backward on light feet.
Her manicured brow raises, impressed at my maneuver. She quickly hides the reaction and circles me. Her legs snake in a way that draws attention to her womanly hips. It’s almost like we’re in another pageant. Scampering ants flare just before her boot hits my knee. Pain rips an ugly cry from my throat. I’d expected another punch.Rusty. Rory would be disappointed in me.
I drop to the mat, clutching my throbbing injury. I’ve had worse. It’s not dislocated—I’d know. But I need a moment to collect my thoughts.
Alfie pushes to the first row of spectators, his eyes filled with apprehension. “This isn’t a fair fight,” he announces.
“The war isn’t fair, Shadow Taylor.”
“She hasn’t even finished reading the registration pamphlet,” he counters. “She doesn’t know the Old Code rules of engagement for conflict resolution are void on Nexus soil for exhibitors so long as a Radiant isn’t involved.”
