Page 47

Zorren paces the stone slab floors of my chamber. I watch his footfalls as he obliviously walks over the exact spot where Silas drew his last breath. A prickle of unease skitters down my spine at the thought of this space becoming my new home. I wanted it and I earned it, but Silas’s presence still lingers between these walls.

When I left this room, it was warm and cozy. But now the fireplace sits dark and empty. The cold, stone floor bites even through the soles of my boots. Behind the desk, the used bathwater lies perfectly still. Part of me yearns for the warmth and protection Roman brought me.

“What did you do to be able to take over the Academy?” Zorren asks, gathering pieces of wood and carrying them to the hearth.

I take a seat in the chair that once belonged to Silas. So many times he sat here, staring me down like I was a toy. A weapon he had sharpened himself. Barking orders as if I belonged to him. I can’t shake the feeling that he isn’t entirely gone.

The thought gnaws at me. Where did Roman take his remains? If the Braveheart bloodline carries healers… What creature could have been inside Silas? And did he only have one offspring?

“What do you think I did?” I throw the question right back at him. He’s a smart kid.

He glances over his shoulder as the flame finally catches in the hearth, light licking up the wood. “You killed that man, didn’t you? The leader? The one that handed me the letter?”

“I did,” I say, crossing my feet on the desk in front of me. “And by the way, the letter is called a blood mark, something you will start to get familiar with as you spend more time training.” I watch his every move and note his complete lack of interest in the subject.

“Is that where you were?” Zorren asks. “The entire time you were gone?”

“Yes.” I keep my voice low. I can’t give him anything more than that. The golden hue of the fire begins to fill the room, chasing shadows into corners, mixing with the first streaks of moonlight spilling in from the night beyond the windows.

Zorren picks up the fire poker, nudging the logs until the flames rise steadier. Then he stands, walks to the chair in front of my new desk, and sits.

From this desk, I will have to make some of my hardest decisions. This academy and the slayers here deserve a leader who will shape them into something strong, something that can survive.

“Zorren,” I say. I lower my feet from the desk and rest my elbows on the cold wood between us. “If you accept my offer to join the Academy, I will not be your mentor.”

Disappointment flashes in his eyes before he can hide it. “What? Why?” This is exactly why. I’m too attached to Zorren, more than anyone else in this entire world. If I trained him, I would only hold him back. I’d never be able to personally put him through what he needs to experience. He needs to learn how to survive on the brink of death. If I saw him in that state, I would only save him myself.

I lace my fingers together, my long, clawed nails catching the firelight. “Because a mentor cannot afford attachments,” I say quietly. “Especially not with the ones they’re training.” I lean forward and anchor him in my gaze.

“What a slayer endures—the trials, the jobs, the blood, the gore, the deaths—it carves pieces out of your soul.” My voice lowers. “I can’t watch that happen to someone I care about.”

For a heartbeat, my voice softens. “A mentor’s responsibility is to show no mercy. To make sure their student lives through every trial and every pain on their own. Mentors watch their students reach the brink of death in training, and they cannot interfere emotionally. This protects the student… and the mentor.” My fingers tighten against the desk. “If I were to train you, I would pull you from dangers you need to face. I would steady your hand when it needs to tremble. I would shield you when you need to take the hit.” I shake my head once, final.

“That would kill you.” I straighten, steel settling back into my spine. “So no. I will not be the one to train you. Not because I don’t care.” My voice hardens. “But because I do.”

Zorren breaks eye contact, staring down at his hands, thumbs twisting together. After a moment, he looks back up at me. “I understand.”

I nod and lean back into the chair.

“But… I still want to be trained,” he says. A sharp ache strikes my chest.

Part of me is proud. The other part already sees what it will cost him. I offered him this life. I put the opportunity in front of him, practically pushed him right into it.

“There is no going back,” I warn. “I can’t give you any special treatment when you’re in.”

He nods, offering a small smile, not to comfort me, but to steady himself. “I know.” Zorren stands and walks back to the fire, placing another piece of oak onto the flames. I watch every movement carefully, searching for his hesitation, his regret, but I find none.

It’s one thing to grow up in this academy. It’s another to enter it as a teenager. It will be harder for him, but I know with his skill he can handle it. He’ll survive. He stares into the fire for a long moment before turning back to me, meeting my gaze.

“So,” he asks quietly, “when do I start?” He’s smiling, looking almost excited. It sours my stomach. The flames crackle in the hearth beside us. This is the point of no return. When I answer his question, he’ll be on a path he can never get off. I swallow hard.

“I think you’d better go pack up that sorry apartment,” I tell him flatly. “It’s time to move in. You’ll be in what once was my room.”

He grins and makes his way toward the door. I unsheathe the dagger strapped to my thigh and flick it in one smooth motion. It buries itself in the armoire beside the door just as his hand reaches for the handle.

Zorren freezes, then turns slowly. “What the fuck?” he spits. “Trying to kill me before I even start training?”

“Hm.” A low laugh slips from my throat. “If I were going to kill you, it wouldn’t look like that. You know I wouldn’t miss.” I lean back in the chair.