Page 72 of Under Restless Skies

“Help!” I yell again.

He looks back at the ruined door at the entrance of the corridor, then turns to me, and swallows, something shifting in his stare.

“Then protect them.” His voice cuts like the sharpest knife, and he lets go of his magical object.

The staff clanks on the stone floor as the rider turns around and disappears through the hole where a door existed only a few minutes ago.

My heart hammers and my breath hitches as I wait for him to return, to bring another magical artifact, to change his mind and kill me. Then I stare at the staff, wondering if it has some deadly magic about to go off at any second.

He can’t simply have run, can he? It makes no sense. Tears prickle my eyes, and I don’t know if it’s fear, relief, anger, or what. My entire body trembles, and I don’t understand what happened.

But he’s gone. I sense his absence, but the feeling I get is not victory, but some strange, painful emptiness. Maybe it’s fear that he’ll return. Return with reinforcements.

It can’t have been that easy.

And what just happened? What was that magic? How could I… rebound it? Block it? Nothing makes sense.

But Ava and Vos are safe. For now, at least. The rider never reached them. A strangled breath leaves my lips. Somehow, despite all odds, I saved them.

The staff on the floor catches my eye again. Why did he leave it behind? Protect them, he said, but I don’t know if he was goading me, being sarcastic, or what.

As I try to make sense of my thoughts, steps echo beyond the hallway. I should be relieved that a group of people is finally coming, and yet my breath stills, bracing for danger.

Four guards enter the hallway, then halt when they see me. I wonder if anything in my appearance hints at what just happened. My hair’s probably a mess, and this dress looks ludicrous in this place.

“What happened here?” a guard asks.

“An intruder.” I hear my own voice as if from a distance. “He ran away.”

The guard’s eyes take in the scorched walls, the ruined door, the staff on the floor. He stiffens and barks at the others, “Intruder procedure! Alert everyone!”

Two guards are gone before I can blink. The guard who shouted crouches near the staff, examining it. When he reaches for it, I want to stop him, as if the object was mine, but I keep my mouth shut. His fingers barely brush the winged tip and he yanks his hand back with a pained grunt, as if he had touched hot oil.

He turns to his colleague. “Take her to the probe room.”

Ominous.

13

Ahand closes around my arm, and I’m pulled away from this hallway and taken up the stairs.

“I’m a recruit,” I grunt. It’s true that I don’t take all the classes, and that I’m in the cleaning crew, but I’m still a recruit—sort of. “I’d like to talk to someone from the academy.”

“They’ll decide,” the guard says.

Several images cross my mind, out of order. Me, pinned on the floor. The rider and I pulling the staff. My hands blocking his magic.

I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them the truth, and, in any case, I can’t even explain what I was doing in that hallway.

The worst is that they punish recruits for any reason, and I worry they’ll use this as an excuse to get rid of me. It makes no sense, but it’s not like this academy is overflowing with logic.

We leave the stairs and come to the same hallway where I have classes, but we walk farther down, and the guard unlocks a heavy wooden door. As he’s busy turning the key, I wonder if I should try to run.

Run where, Mayara?

He opens the door and leads me to a large room, much like a classroom, but with no board in the front. Instead, wooden chairs are set in a semicircle, with a seat in the middle, and a high pulpit in the front.

The guard points at the middle seat, and at least he doesn’t push me there or restrain me.