The little boy stops speaking, drops his hands, and looks around the room. His eyes glaze right over me, as if he can’t see me standing here. He gets up and runs behind the throne chairs, lifting the tapestry to look behind it. His infectious laughter follows him around the room.
“Hello?” I call. But he continues looking for something or someone, oblivious to the stranger standing in the room with him.
The room that looks very much like a royal hall.
Another child’s laughter rings out from behind the second chair, but he doesn’t come out. The first little boy runs in that direction, his small face breaking out in a huge smile.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
I quickly turn and face the woman who spoke. Dark hair so black it almost appears blue is regally styled atop her head with a dainty gold crown seated upon it. Walnut-colored eyes narrow in frustration, and her thin lips pull into a line of disappointment as she stares back at me.
I raise my hands and step back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I don’t know where I am—” I start, but she walks through me.
THROUGH ME.
I jump back and quickly turn to face the direction she went. The little boy stops laughing and raises his wide eyes to stare up at the woman. “Hello, Your Majesty,” he says in a small, frail voice.
“Come. Your father is awaiting us in the dining hall,” she orders in a sharp tone, grabbing the little boy’s hand. “The king is not to be kept waiting.”
He drops his head and walks beside her.
When they’re halfway to me, his steps falter, and he looks over his shoulder in the direction the other child’s laughter came from. The royal woman stops and throws a sharp look over her shoulder just as the tapestry slightly moves. She pulls her shrewd eyes down and says in a regal voice, “How many times must I tell you not to play with the dirty-blood?”
He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and drops his head again. I watch as they exit through the grand doors, and the room begins to grow fuzzy around the edges. It tilts on its axis, causing the contents of my stomach to feel as if they’re going to rejoin my mouth. The pressure in my skull intensifies.
I close my eyes, rub them with the base of my palm, and reopen them.
I’m back in the classroom, staring at a pissed-off Makon. His eyes are pulled into slits, and his mouth is firm. The usual smirk or taunting grin he wears has been completely erased.
I sit up a little straighter. “I think I just visited someone else’s memory,” I say, breathless, gripping the edge of the table for balance.
Makon doesn’t seem surprised. “Did you, now?” His voice is inflectionless. Flat.
“You good?”
A fake smile flickers across his face, not reaching his eyes. “Impeccable,” he answers, turning away from me and toward the professor.
Moravek claps his hands loudly. Once. Twice. “Welcome back, everyone. I hope the little trip down memory lane wasn’t too eventful. This was an exercise in mind manipulation, something that blood magic can be quite beneficial for,” he advises. “Not everyone is skilled enough and has the ability to dip into the crevasses of the brain without it, which makes this incantation priceless. The only downside is that you have to experience the memory in first person, which, depending on the circumstance, isn’t always pleasant.” His thin lips pull up at the corners.
It’s a safe assumption that the idea of anyone experiencing discomfort is incredibly appetizing to him.
I know his kind. I grew up around them.
I look back over at Makon, who now has his back turned to me as he talks with another upperclassman. The professor erases the blackboard and waves his hand, indicating we’re dismissed before the bell has even rung.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
I grab my pack, sling it over my shoulder and look at the back of Makon’s head. The Noctryn he’s speaking to raises his eyes to mine and says something to Makon, causing him to partially turn in his seat.
I keep my expression neutral. “You coming?” I ask.
“Nah, I’ll catch you later,” he says, without fully facing me, and turns back to his conversation.
Okay then.
I grip the strap of my bag and throw one last glance toward him before turning and leaving.
Chapter twenty-nine
