“Don’t sound so surprised.” He chuckles low. “I’m better than you’re giving me credit for.”
“I’ve always known you’re good,” I say, somewhat defensively.
“I’m not ‘good,’ I’m fucking great, and you know it.” He nudges my shoulder.
“Thank you, for getting them.”
“You know I’d follow you to the ends of the world.” He still wears a tired little grin. “Which will be soon now.” We both look to Arina’s room at the mention. “Thal’s been doing good with her. They’re actually really impressive, not just as an Arcanist, but as a person. They’ve visited her almost every day.”
“I knew they were impressive, but I’m glad to hear it’s going well.”
Gregor attempts to stand.
I place my hands firmly on his shoulders. “You need to rest.”
“Now that I’m mended, I need to take care of the bodies of the two Stellis.”
I shake my head and then start for the door. “I’ll go and deal with the bodies.”
“I’ll take you up on that kindness.” He shifts, stretching out on the sofa. His eyelids are already heavy. The man’s exhausted. “They’re down by the bridge entry.”
I leave, descending into the passages.
If anyone else saw him go into the crypt in the graveyard…I debate crossing the bridge and closing it off. But the Worldkeepers need it to get through to Arina and to the Stone Citadel. Maybe I will after Gregor, Sorza, and I are inducted the day after tomorrow.
I find the bodies right where Gregor said they’d be: near the entry. One is slumped against the wall, throat bruised. The other is on his stomach, one arm stretched back toward the long tunnel in the bridge, as if reaching for help in Eclipse City. As if begging for escape. The man died crawling.
His head is nearly cleaved from his neck, a cut so deep it exposes bone and muscle. It was a brutal strike with a massive blade—larger than I’ve ever seen Gregor use before. But he has been training with the Worldkeepers…
“Damn, didn’t hold back, did you?” I mutter before dragging the bodies deeper into the academy that will now become their tomb.
By the time the sun is hanging low in the sky the next day, it’s impossible to tell that my hands were recently coated in blood and I was dragging bodies until the small hours of the morning.
The Selection Soiree is held at a manor owned by Clan Moon, where their nobles relax when visiting the city.
Tucked back on Starburst Row and perched on the cliffs that overlook the river, the manor has an understated marble façade that almost reminds me of a blank sheet of paper. Only a few narrow windows puncture the front of the building.
Crescent lanterns flank either side of the obsidian doors. Identical lanterns inside line a vast entry that cuts straight through the heart of the house all the way to the large back veranda that overlooks the river. Musicians perform on an elevated balcony: soft, delicate tones that are mostly harp and the oddest but most melodic hum of singing glasses.
I intentionally arrived late, allowing me to slip in without too muchfanfare to the party already in swing. The second-year students are mingling with much more confidence than they did at the first gathering. They’ve all dressed to impress.
My own outfit is fairly understated by comparison. I’ve elected simple trousers, loose-fitting and pleated, a crisp white collared shirt, and a steel vest. Appropriate for the occasion as a professor. Unlike the over-the-top gowns Kaelis had me in last year.
I smile despite myself into the glass of sparkling wine that’s found its way into my hand. At the thought of him, my attention darts toward Kaelis. As ever, he’s dressed impeccably, in a suit of midnight blue with silver embroidery.
Pulling my attention from him, for now at least, I reassess the room. The movement of the students and nobles is like a deck being shuffled. Every conversation, every pause in the flow of people is like a quick spread to be read. The veneer on almost every dazzling smile is thin. Narrowed eyes and sharp looks are cast among the High Lords and Ladies and the other uppermost nobles in attendance, as if to ward off any who would dare try to lay claim to the students they want for their own clans.
One of those High Lords is making his way over to me, his daughter at his side. I take another deep swig of wine and ready my best smile. I’ve no idea why these two, out of all people, are heading toward me, but I must be on my best behavior for them.
“Father,” Alor says, stopping just before me, “this is Sophie Veillgar, the professor of wielding I mentioned.”
“Your High Lordship.” I bow my head and show the appropriate respect.
“My daughter has consistently praised your tutelage, Professor Veillgar,” Moreus Ventall says in that low, methodical way of his. He outwardly sizes me up, making no effort to hide it.
“I didn’t realize I had made such the impression.” I smile warmly at Alor, then at him.
“Any who can impress one of House Swords, and of Clan Tower,must be a worthy instructor indeed. Where did you say you were from?”
