Chapter Fifteen
Ethan
It’d been a week since Morgan had been attacked, and nobody knew who did it. An investigation was underway to find out what exactly had happened, but like the murder of Professor Waldron, it only turned up dead ends. No evidence had been left behind, and there were no clues indicating who had performed such a deadly assault.
Morgan survived the attack with minimal injuries. She’d lost a lot of blood, but she hadn’t been seriously hurt, and had minimal scarring. Morgan couldn’t remember who had attacked her. She’d never seen their face, and had fainted once she was attacked. She couldn’t even recall what spell had been used.
But regardless of who’d tried to murder her, Morgan blamed Emma. She’d loudly told anyone who would listen that she thought Emma was behind the attack and that this was a way of getting back at her, because she had wings and Emma didn’t.
She wasn’t the only one. There were many students at the school who said we never should’ve allowed Emma in, and that this was what we got for letting an outsider attend Arcanea University. A lot of people kept their distance from her, as if they too were afraid she’d suddenly snap and turn on them.
An assault and a murder, all in the span of a few weeks. And at Arcanea University, no less. This was a huge problem. I had a feeling both crimes were connected. The Black Claw was inside the school somehow, watching. And for some reason, Emma had become their target.
My urge to find out exactly what was going on had increased tenfold. My mate was directly in danger. If the Phantom couldn’t find out what the Black Claw was doing, then Prince Ethan would. I had power. I’d ordered spies to be placed around the palace in the guise of employees, to report back to me periodically if they noticed anything unusual. Still, they found nothing.
My mind was still preoccupied with the attack during my Forging Master Weapons class on Thursday. Myself, along with the rest of the class, had been tasked with learning how to make swords for the majority of the semester. We were working with enchanted steel, which was easier to forge and safe for fae to use, but broke far more easily. I heard swear words often as people created cracks in the weapons they worked. Each student had been given their own forge, along with a hammer and common tools. The blacksmithing classroom was outside, in one of the inner courtyards next to the Conservatory.
Professor Desmona was a warrior of epic proportions. A griffin Marked, she’d killed more monsters than anyone else I knew and was a master blacksmith. She could forge any weapon out of any metal but iron, and her swords could kill a monster in one swing. She was a towering woman, over six feet tall, and had muscles that would put most Companions to shame. Her blonde hair was cropped short around her ears. Instead of wearing sorceress robes or dresses like the rest of the female teachers, she donned long breeches, woolen tunics, and leather aprons.
I’d often seen her in full chain mail and armor, participating in the various tournaments that were held throughout the year. She was one of the few Marked that had been knighted, an honor usually reserved for Companions. My father was the one who had given her that honor. Because of that, I think she liked me, but it certainly gave me no favoritism. She was tough on everybody.
“If your sword is of shabby quality, Iwillhave you start over next semester, and you will fail this class,” Professor Desmona said loudly as she passed me. “You cannot kill a monster with a blade that won’t cut butter.”
Several people groaned, but I kept my head down. If you complained, Desmona was more likely to take off points. I didn’t think she was mated, which was odd for a Marked of her age— early thirties or so. I wasn’t sure if she’d found her mate yet or if he had died, and I didn’t have the balls to ask.
I had been working all semester on hammering away at my sword after it emerged heated from the forge so that it obtained a proper shape. Today, I was sharpening the sword using a grindstone. Professor Desmona didn’t believe in using modern tools for weapon-making— said they created poor weapons.
After I was done with the sharpening, I’d harden the sword by heating it to a very high temperature, then place it into a quenching tank. I’d repeat the process at a lower temperature to temper the sword. I was just now getting to the part where I’d be able to add a hilt.
This was nothing like working on the daggers and tiny weapons I’d made in my Simple Weapons courses the past two years. This was taking all my craftsmanship. These swords were supposed to be for our careers as monster hunters after we graduated, but I didn’t need one— I had my father’s. I wasn’t sure what I was going to use this one for once I was done crafting it. A backup, maybe?
I was behind everyone else, but I believed in taking my time with this. I’d wanted to make the sword special and wanted to spend a considerable amount of time carving an intricate design into the metal— a wolf pack running through the woods, on both sides.
Most of the other students hadn’t bothered inscribing anything special on their weapons. They’d go out and purchase professional ones after graduation, and leave these at home. But me? I don’t know… for some reason, I felt that creating this sword was of grave importance, and it needed to be perfect.
Professor Desmona walked by and observed my work. She put a hand out, and I gave the blade to her. She took in the weapon with an approving nod. “Very good, my prince. This will be a weapon that will stand the test of time.”
Professor Desmona was the only teacher on campus who still used my royal title when referring to me— and no way in hell would I challenge her on it like all the others. She’d kick my ass. “Thank you.”
I took the sword back and resumed my work. A Marked girl whose sword was curved and bent after she forged it wrong gave me a sour look.
Class ended at five, but I stayed at the forge long past that, until six o’clock. I wasn’t satisfied with my work until I knew I was ready to move onto the next step. Professor Desmona was working on forging armor when I passed, but still, her eyes glinted with an approving glaze. She liked that I put in more time than all the others, but I liked the forge. My blacksmithing skills had proved useful in creating a variety of items, such as my grappling hook that I used when surveying the city as the Phantom.
Also, it took my mind off of things I couldn’t control— like the fact that I couldn’t protect Emma.
After I was done, I took a shower, then headed downstairs to get some dinner. Emma was in the cafeteria with Delmare, Odette, and Kiara. They were sitting at a table in the corner. All the tables around them were empty, and people avoided being near them like they had the plague.
I got three cabbage rolls and slid into the seat next to Emma. “Rough crowd?”
She glumly played with her pasta. “Everyone thinks I attempted murder.”
“Not everyone,” Odette piped up. “We’re still here with you.”
“I’d still hang out with you even if youdiddo it,” Delmare added through a full mouth. “Morgan’s a jackass.”
Emma put her face in her hands. Kiara, who was on her other side of her, put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Emma. They’ll figure out who’s really behind this, and everyone will owe you an apology.”
“If you think these stuck up pricks are going to apologize, you’re in for a rough go of it,” Delmare said.
