“And here I was thinking you two were becoming friends,” I reply sarcastically.
He yanks on my braid gently and shoots me one of his devastating smiles.
The kind he used to get out of trouble with.
Only now, it’s me who feels like they’re in trouble.
Chapter twenty-one
The desk shakes as I drop my head.
A groan escapes.
We’ve been practicing shadow craft for over an hour, and if failure were a currency, I’d be rich. When Professor Rinkin informed us we’d be at our most vulnerable when learning to wield, she wasn’t kidding. I’ve tried everything from intense concentration to ridiculous hand movements. I even resorted to the deepest pits of depravity and asked Kingston for advice. He not only gave it, but also poured himself into the explanation, as if his own success were on the line. Sometimes I think he wants me to succeed in the dark classes just to be able to rub Ambrose’s face in it. Other times, I’m not so sure of his motivations.
At times, I think he despises me. But then I’m not so sure.
He’s a walking contradiction that I can’t figure out.
Shadows swirl in every direction in the class. Some small, like smoke erupting from students’ fingertips, and others dark and volatile, like death on swift wings. Laughter erupts fromsomeone close by as they grasp the concept of control. It’s one thing to cast a shadow, but another entirely to control them. At least from what I’ve been told. It really is beauty in the most brutal form. Something so ethereal and mysterious, yet also full of potential to decimate someone.
As most beautiful things are.
“I’ve yet to see casting accomplished with one’s head on a desk, but I’m open to trying,” Kingston drawls.
Without lifting my head, I give him the middle finger.
It’s like our signature greeting at this point.
A deep and sinister laugh comes from above me, practically causing me to have whiplash as I sit up. “Excuse me, good sir, but did you just laugh?” I ask in an incredulous tone.
“Believe it or not, it does happen on rare occasions,” he replies straight-faced, like it, in fact, never happened.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Prove it. Do it again,” I order.
“The probability of me laughing on command is the same as you wielding on command.”
I pause. “Geeze, you don’t have to be an ass.”
“And you don’t have to pout.”
“I’m not pouting. I’m simply giving up. There’s a difference.” I drop my head back on the desk.
“Then you are definitely not a Noctryn. Glad we got that sorted,” he states with apathy.
I raise my head slightly. “I never wanted to be,” I remind him, giving him a sharp look.
A dark chuckle slips free. “Let me guess. You still bleed the colors of a Veil, holding onto that false sense of righteousness,” he mocks. “Veil.It really is a fitting name. Lift it and you might not like what you see.”
I hold his gaze in challenge. “Are you insinuating that abandoning my birth magic only to engulf myself in dark arts is more genuine and pure? More righteous?”
“At this point, you haven’t manifested either, so it’s a moot point,” he responds flatly.
Ouch. Someone woke up and chose violence today.
“When my powers decide to finally make themselves known, they will without a doubt be on the light spectrum. So don’t bother getting your hopes up.”
A smile curves along his lips. “Trust me, if this class is any indication, they were never up.”
