My lips pursed, and I looked out the window to where our mounts stood tied. He was right. My molars scraped against each other, and I looked back at Windsor. He seemed safe enough. And it would probably be better to hit the road well-rested. I begrudgingly agreed, and Ezrich’s lips stretched into a wide smile as he turned to the white-haired Windsor.
I let my pack slump back to the ground and turned to find the two of them clasping hands.
A flurryof robed scholars bustled through the halls of the Temple of the Sky as I made my way to the grand lecture hall. Morning sunshine cut through the windows of the domed structure, illuminating the various fountains in the center. I let my gaze linger on the droplets sparkling like stars before they spattered against the surrounding black columns.
Something slammed into my shoulder, and I grappled for the books in my arms, cutting a glare at the students rushing past me before adjusting my spectacles. I hurried after them and into the lecture hall, finding my assigned seat in the sea of students.
Movement spread through the chamber like a wave, heads bobbing in conversation as students pulled out quills and notebooks, mouths still moving as they settled into place. My gaze tracked the faces, finally stopping as it landed on Lyvia across the room. She slid in between two boys our age, plopping her things before her in a messy pile. My lips kicked up, and I shook my head as I straightened the quill next to my notebook. She adjusted her skirts and took a seat before tucking her ebony hair behind her ears.
I waved as she glanced up, offering me a friendly smile. I returned it before the boy next to her mouthed something I was too far to lipread.
Lyvia’s eyes cut to his, her brows narrowing. Pink rushed up her neck, and her lips pressed into a thin line. The boy smirkedat his friend on the other side of Lyvia, and she straightened her shoulders before pulling her gaze to the front of the room, where an old scholar sidled up to the center of the stage.
The movement across the vast chamber slowed like the stilling water of a wave slipping up sand. Mouths closed, and my eyes narrowed in on the scholar beginning the lecture. My gut tightened as he began speaking, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
Lip-reading it is, I thought. I’d need Lyvia to share her notes with me,again. I’d be lucky if I caught 20 percent of what he said from this far away.
Only about one-third of the professors I’d had over the past few years spoke my language with their hands. I could feel Lyvia’s stare from across the room, but I didn’t dare look away from the scholar speaking as I furiously scribbled notes as best I could. I knew I wouldn’t see pity on her face. I’d see anger. And I didn’t need to add hers to the rising mix of resentment and frustration clashing inside me.
I was here. I was learning. I would become a Death Scholar.
That was enough for an orphaned deaf boy who’d spent the first few years of life on the streets of Krestwood.
My hand stopped scribbling as the scholar waited for an answer to the question he asked. Before I could raise my hand, he called on a boy at the center of the room.
Wrong, I realized, only catching the first few words.
Lyvia’s hand shot up, and she leaned forward, making her presence as obvious as a horse among mules. Not that she needed to make her presence known as the only girl in the room.
The scholar at the center of the room tensed, his jaw ticking as he undoubtedly noticed Lyvia and called on her with a reluctant nod of his head. She eagerly spoke and signed her answer, the correct one, I knew, but her head snapped to theleft mid-sentence as another male student in the crowd began to talk over her.
My brows narrowed in disgust as the professor’s eyes lit up, and he grinned at the male student in the crowd who interrupted Lyvia, nodding emphatically as the boy explained the same answer Lyvia gave usingalmostthe exact same words.
Lyvia’s face fell, but only for a moment. She schooled her disappointment by squaring her shoulders and staring at the male student with eyes like ice before scribbling something in her notebook.
My teeth scraped against each other at the interruption, despite the occurrence happening on a regular basis. Lyvia glanced at me briefly, and with a fleeting look, we shared our irritation, our otherness. We stood out in this room of uniformity, together. I held her gaze, giving her a slight, but firm nod of encouragement, and she returned to taking notes.
I pulled my attention back to the subject at hand until light leaked through the door in the back, draping the center aisle in a soft flood of a moon-blue glow before disappearing.
My eyes darted to the back hall where the high priest had entered. His greasy, jet-black hair was pulled tightly back at the nape of his neck, and the deep blue, gossamer robes he wore fluttered as he clasped his hands in front of himself. The silver belt secured around his waist was adorned with a wide array of white and gray coral.
He must have entered quietly, because as I scanned the rest of the room, the students’ focus remained pinned on the professor at the center. High Priest Helmar loomed at the back of the room, his opaque blue eyes scanning the faces in the crowd and stopping briefly on mine. His lips tilted into a soft grin…
A deep ache at the back of my head pulled me from my sleep, my pulse banging behind my eyes like the woodpecker that left the marks on the pine outside the cabin. Forest light flitted through the window, and I blinked my eyes open to the glowing embers of our late fire in the hearth.
My hand slackened on the dagger in my grip, a habit I’d taken up after my time in Stynguard. A shiver racked through my shoulders as the lingering image from last night’s dream crashed forward, and I failed to stop the haunting memories of my captivity in High Priest Helmar’s rooms in Stynguard. His tests with Obscura Bone were nothing compared to the tactics he used when he suspected I could wield the lost arts.
Saliva flooded my mouth, the memories poisoning the late dinner still clinging to my stomach, and I rolled to the side, slamming on my knees before vomiting into a small bowl of breakfast left for me.
Gods, why did I have to be so weak?
My eyes caught on a slip of parchment next to the bowl, and I snatched it up. I pinched my brows as I read the note Ezrich left.
Helping Windsor with traps. Bringing my bow just in case. Back in a few hours. -Ez
I shook my head as I crumpled up the parchment.Fuck. Ezrich was too trusting. And why hadn’t he woken me? We really needed to keep moving, especially if those snakes returned.
I rubbed the exhaustion from my face and slugged a cup of water.
