I gingerly run my fingers over the brittle parchment. It’s surreal that something so small and inconspicuous could hold so much weight in the direction my life is about to take.
I can’t help but grin as I look up at him, my chest feeling lighter than it has in days. “Thank you, Ambrose. I know what this could have cost you. I’m sorry I even agreed to this when you mentioned it, but I don’t regret it. Not if it means we’ll finally be together again.”
Growing up with someone whom you see every day and then being suddenly ripped apart is the absolute worst. Being a year younger than him, I had to stay behind, wandering aimlessly through each day until I could join him at Kintoira. I neverrealized just how long a day can feel until he wasn’t a part of them anymore. I have to land in his regiment, it’s nonnegotiable.
I curl my fingers around the parchment. This is my ticket to being by his side.
His blue eyes are full of concern as he trails a long, slender finger down my cheek, causing my body to lean forward on its own accord.
Traitor.
I’m as touch-starved as I am suicidal. First by thinking I can cheat my way into the academy, and now by leaning into my best friend’s touch.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
“I knew what was at stake, Nori. I didn’t just do it for you. I selfishly did it for me too,” he softly whispers. His deep baritone wraps around me like a security blanket, offering a fleeting feeling of warmth and safety. Slowly, he drops his hand, causing me to step back.
I pull my sleeve down and adjust the front of my cloak. I know better than to allow myself to fall into the false sense of security his presence always brings. In the end, I’m his best friend, and that’s the role I’ll play. The line has all but been drawn in the sand. I’m not willing to try to blur it.
The consequences could be too great.
The damp cobbled streets are quiet tonight. Most of the patrons are indoors drinking their worries away or by their hearths. They’re doing their best to try to stay warm from the bitter cold that descends on us like an unwelcome guest that never leaves. This region is always frigid, being so far north, but lately, it’s been particularly unbearable.
Moving from foot to foot to keep my blood flowing, I carefully tuck the parchment in my deep pocket. I should feel bad for cheating, but I don’t.
Desperation has robbed me of a lot of my emotions.
Leaning back against the brick wall, Ambrose runs his hand through his thick waves, a telltale sign he’s got things on his mind. When he catches me watching him, he drops his hand and rubs the sharp line of his jaw instead.
“I’m going to be there on the sidelines watching. I’ll see every single move you make.”
I arch a brow. Not what I was expecting, but okay. I’ll take it. It shouldn’t make my stomach feel weird and tingly, but it does.
“You’ve always been on the sidelines for me,” I acknowledge. “I remember the nights I would sneak out and hide in the sawgrass, lying up and looking at the stars, wishing I could become one of them. Even if for just a moment, before I burned out. You’d always find me.”
His eyes soften at the memories as he pushes off the wall. “Try to review as much as you can tonight. You don’t have much time before you sit for the exam, but it’s more than any other prospect could hope for.” His brows lower, and his eyes take on a hard edge. “The last thing you want to do is end up in the wrong regiment.”
I nod in understanding.
He runs his palms down his face in obvious agitation at not being able to control the outcome tomorrow and the entire week following. He’s always been a control freak. “They would use everything good about you and bend it until there was nothing left but broken fragments. Don’t give them that satisfaction,” he continues in a gruff voice, barely more than a whisper.
I nod again in clear understanding and more than enough agreement.
I don't want to end up in theotherregiment. The infamous dark regiment. Whereas the light regiment has Veils, the dark regiment has Noctryns, and they couldn’t be more different. Unfortunately, Kintoira Academy trains both. They tolerate each other out of necessity, but they certainly don’t like each other.
In other words, it’s kind of like a shitty marriage.
The only thing they have in common is that both are prisons in the shape of armor.
I swear I can feel my brows hit my hairline when he removes a dagger from a sheath at his waist and firmly puts it in my hand. I’ve never really held a dagger before. I’ve never needed a weapon, not only because of who my mother is but also because I had Ambrose.
I hold it up closer to my face, inspecting the intricate details of the hilt, and carefully run my finger along the blade.
“Take it, keep it hidden, and do not under any circumstances leave without it strapped somewhere to your person,” he orders in the stern tone he usually uses on everyone but me.
The dagger is light with a small blade that appears to be made of black steel. It’s small enough to conceal. Tossing it from hand to hand, I test its weight and feel.
I immediately drop it.
