The hatred in both of their eyes is positively blinding.
I know the two separate regiments aren’t a fan of each other, but something deeper is at play here. Something more than the crude insults and innuendos thrown around today. Something I don’t know about because Ambrose decided to be a sellout and not fill me in.
Some best friend he is.
Ambrose’s laughter comes out gentle but devious. I’ve never heard him laugh in such a threatening way. “You’re just like him, aren’t you? Desperate to be noticed. Determined to make a name for yourself.” His dark hair falls over his brow as he taunts Makon. “You’ve already failed, though, haven’t you? You couldn’t even place as a Veil. All you’ll ever be good at is dirty magic,” he says with a smug smile.
Repulsion sweeps across Makon’s face. “I’d slit my own throat before accepting the signia of a Veil.” His gaze turns cold, unforgiving. “One day, Ballard, I’ll stare down at your lifeless body and golden morals both bleeding out on the battlefield.”
He looks like the type who wouldn’t just look down at Ambrose’s lifeless body but would smile upon it. This man is downright terrifying. What I really want to know is how his shadows snuffed out Ambrose’s flames. Are they more powerful than certain manifestations?
Ambrose, being Ambrose, just has to get the last word in, though.
“It makes perfect sense, you know.” He laughs, rubbing the corners of his mouth. “You two are cut from the exact same cloth after all.”
Who is cut from what cloth? Why am I so in the dark here?
The fire may have fully subsided in his hands, but apparently not in his anger toward Makon. Now there’s just residual ash encased around his fingernails. A stark reminder he lost control today, and a Noctryn gained it.
Whether, I like him or not, which I most definitely do not, Makon just saved us from all becoming tinder for the academy. My favorite part of all of this, though, is when my buddy, who’s pretty high up on my shit list at the moment, turns toward me, remembering I’m still here.
Ambrose’s eyes widen in surprise, like he actually did forget I was here.
I tilt my chin and let out a quiet huff, not bothering to hide it.
It takes a second before his eyes fall to the pair of arms holding me hostage, causing his lips to lift in a snarl. “Remove your fucking hands,” he warns the Noctryn holding me.
Makon examines his fingernails, like this is all incredibly boring to him at this point.
“He wouldn’t have to restrain her if you could control yourself,Veil.” He says the last word as if it’s filthy. “If we had left her in your very incapable hands, figuratively and literally, she’d be embers at this point.”
If looks could kill, Makon would be dead on the spot. Fury and hatred pour out of Ambrose, and I’d bet anything he’s dismembering him in his head.
Slowly.
A chill works its way down my spine at the murderous glint in his eye.
Makon says something to the man restraining me, but it’s in a language I don’t recognize. I’m immediately released and rushover to Ambrose. He tucks me under his arm, not even looking at me. It’s okay, though. I’m sure he’s just out of sorts right now and trying to keep me safe.
Makon cuts a glance toward me before his brown eyes narrow on Ambrose. Without another word, he turns on his heel, leaving with his horde of dark comrades following closely behind.
The rest of us are left standing here, wondering what just happened.
Yaretta is nowhere to be seen.
Chapter seven
I spit dirt from my mouth.
The granules are stuck between my teeth, and my tongue feels like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth. I can only imagine how much is in my hair after being unceremoniously shoved into the arena and landing on my face.
First, we were crammed into the dark, cavernous tunnels, our eyesight taken from us, and had to rely on touch to find our way through. Then, without warning, once we reached the end of the very long underpass, we were shoved into daylight, our eyes not having time to adjust.
This is how my face ended up breaking my fall into the dirt.
So far, being a lieutenant for the prospects has come with zero rewards, only setbacks. I’m at the front of the group because of the leader signia on my shoulder, which means I have no time to regain my composure before being instructed to climb to the first agility assessment.
Craning my neck back, I shield my eyes and look up the rope ladder. It looks flimsy and unreliable. There’s also the main issue at play here. I absolutely loathe heights. The tingly feeling is already starting in my legs, and I know I’m about to lose all authority over their actions.
