“And that, Brynn,” he drawls as he resumes walking, “is why we drill at midnight. Why we resurrect the brutal trials. The greatest darkblood witches were forged in catastrophe.”
I mutter under my breath, “Well, count me out.”
He doesn’t pause. “Don’t take it personally. I’d rather not be paired with you, either.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Excuse me?”
He shrugs. “You’re what my circles call a lesser Salem.”
My blood simmers. A rune flickers in my mind—just a drop of my own blood and I could paralyze him for days, then toy with him until the curse lifts.
“How dare you,” I snap, every muscle twitching, already imagining the rune’s shape dancing on the wall beside us.
Chad shoulders through the training hall's double doors like they're made of cardboard. Great. On second thought, one runeprobably wouldn't cut it for him. And I'd need to get close enough to prick him for his own blood, too, which seems about as likely as Grandma Esther joining a clearblood yoga retreat.
He laughs—actually laughs—at my death glare. “Relax, Brynn. No need to go all Salem-psycho on me. I'm just repeating what everyone said when they heard we were paired up. 'Poor Chad got stuck with the lesser Salem.'”
“And who exactly is 'everyone'?” My fingers twitch with the urge to trace the rune on his stupid face.
I’m really starting to think like my sister. Two weeks ago I was organizing the library's necromancy section alphabetically. Now I'm fantasizing about hexing people?
Chad claps his hands like some theatrical villain, and the torches ignite around us, washing everything in golden light. Through the ceiling's massive window, the moon watches our little midnight drama. “Truth is, I was hoping for your cousin Nyv. Now there's a witch with potential. But you?” He eyes me like I'm a disappointing book review. “Bookworms don't survive what's coming.”
“Yet here you are, stuck 'mentoring' me. Are we done with the insult marathon?”
“It's not an insult if it's true.” His voice is infuriatingly calm. “Face it, Brynn. You'd rather be alphabetizing grimoires than standing here with me.”Was he watching me two weeks ago?
I cross my arms. “No shit. I'd rather be anywhere else.”
“You'd rather be looking for Esme?”
“You're damn right I would!” My voice suddenly cracks.
“Unfortunately, that's not an option for you,” he replies. “What happened at Heathborne exceeds your capacity to react and respond, at least for the time being. Which is why we need to train.”
I hate it when Chad makes sense. It's like finding a perfectly organized index in an otherwise garbage textbook. Mom's lecture from earlier sinks deeper into my brain, like one of those earworms from the clearblood radio stations Esme secretly listens to.
“I take issue with Darkbirch's decisions of late,” I say, recrossing my arms because the first cross clearly wasn't emphatic enough.
“You don't trust their judgment.”
“I don't trust their ability to gather accurate intel. Like, hello? Heathborne has had an actual dragon in there for how long? And we didn't know? That's like missing a basilisk in the bathroom. Doesn't it reek of incompetence to you?”
He offers that smirk, the one that says I've almost solved the equation but missed a variable. I'd bristle at the condescension, but it's like when Professor Mortimer lets you figure out which poisonous herb you've misidentified before you accidentally kill yourself.
“Would you like my honest opinion?” he asks.
“Isn't brutal honesty your default mode? You sure love using it to piss me off.”
Chad's face does that annoying thing where he looks both smug and serious at the same time. “I don't think Darkbirch was actually clueless about Heathborne. They had an idea of what was up, just not all the specifics. Classic need-to-know basis BS.”
Wait. What? I blink at him, momentarily forgetting to glare. It's possibly the first time he's said something that doesn't make me want to hex his teeth out. “That's straight-up conspiracy theory territory. Corvin would have an aneurysm.”
“I’m pretty sure Corvin would’ve been in on it too. It's just my theory.” He shrugs those ridiculous shoulders. “They sent Esme to find whatever magic hurt Jax. If they'd told her 'hey, we think there's a dragon,' she might've missed something else important. In hindsight? Not the worst plan.”
“Wow,” I snort. “Took you all of five seconds to defend the people who basically fed my sister to a dragon.”
Chad's expression hardens. “Brynn, we can waste time playing detective, or we can prepare for the clearbloods to come at us with everything they've got. They caught our people inside. And honestly? That 'dragon' probably saved your sister from being tortured to death.”
