Page 26 of Under Restless Skies

I take back my bowl, and she gives him a friendly smile. “Eat something, dear. Would you like some stew?”

Flavio hesitates at first, but then nods. Laristella passes him a bowl, and he sits beside me on the bench. When he takes the first spoonful, he lets out a loud moan. And then another.

Come on. The stew is not that good. Is the food in the academy that dreadful? I finish my stew, then wait for him to finish what must be some kind of heavenly nectar. When he gives his empty bowl to Laristella, he bows.

“Thank you. I had heard your stew was legendary, but I didn’t think… I suppose some legends are true.”

Laristella smirks. “Of course they are. Now take good care of my jewel.” I’m at first unsure what she means, but she’s pointing at me.

I must be sappy and silly. For some reason, the endearment gets to me, and tears threaten to wet my eyes. I want to believe I’m precious, that someone cares for me that much. But it’s just a word, thrown out there for who knows what reason. I hold back the foolish tears until my brother comes to me, wiping his hands on his apron. Now I give him the tight hug I’ve been wanting to give him since I survived that island. He’s my life, my joy, everything I clung to when our family fell apart. And that’s when the tears fall.

I pat his head, even if he’s slightly taller than me. “I’ll come visit.”

He shrugs. “You’ll be close.”

Laristella watches me, a hand on her hip, her countenance grave.

A parting hug would be fitting, I suppose, except that I’ve held my distance for so long that it would be odd to break it now. Instead, I wave, which feels a little ridiculous from such a close distance. “Thanks. Thanks so much.”

She nods. “May Foros bless you, darling.”

I nod back, even if I want to protest that I want Vigorlu, the god of strength, to bless me instead. I want to carve my own path, trace my own destiny. Finally, I’m about to start.

My heart’s light and my steps firm as we pass the Circle of Gods, at the center of Dracolius City, where piles of flowers lie by Foros’s and Cardiana’s statues. I look at Vigorlu and ask the god to protect me. I’ll be strong. I’ll succeed.

We’ve been walking in silence, and as much as I want to pepper my companion with questions, I don’t want to break any rule. All I can do is bask in the joy of finally heading to the academy.

For a moment, I’m a little girl again, holding my mother’s hand, watching the Sky Guard procession walk by, heads high, steps proud, women and men equally powerful, equally splendid. I wanted to be like that, mighty without any need to be pretty, with no need to perform to a mold of femininity.

And then I saw them flying, floating and gliding in the air. Who wouldn’t want that? Cowards, I suppose. I’m not a coward. And now it’s my turn to fly.

When we’re approaching the academy, Flavio turns to me. “Alayel asked me to apologize to you.”

The words surprise me, but I keep my tone casual. “He’s busy, I guess?”

He looks down. “Somewhat.”

I almost ask him if he’s Alayel’s friend, and what Alayel’s doing, but I don’t want to sound like a teenager with a crush on the gorgeous recruit, examiner, or who knows what else. Vigorlu help me. I hope I don’t have a crush on him.

“That’s fine,” I mutter.

Flavio nods. For some reason, he seems uncomfortable, but I pretend I don’t notice it.

We reach the academy and he takes me to a side door, then up some narrow and dingy sets of stone stairs. I think if they were going to put me in prison again, they’d send more guards, and that’s the only thing keeping me from asking where he’s taking me.

But my joy is deflating, giving way to a nagging feeling prickling like needles under my skin.

Something’s wrong.

He opens a door and leads me to a gloomy hallway with stone walls, lit by small windows at its end. This is a far cry from the prison, and yet it’s like what I always imagined the academy would look like.

Finally, I can’t take it. “Where⁠—”

“A moment.” He stops and knocks on a large wooden door.

A middle-aged woman opens it, her blond hair tied in a fancy bun on top of her head. She glances at me and narrows her green eyes, turning to Flavio. “What’s this?”

My last drop of hope evaporates.