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I can’t complain, because he’s giving me my opportunity to drop a hint of my supposedly deviant attitudes in case he’ll pass the information on to Ster. Torstem. “I don’t believe we should be limited by what we were born with. I’ve always striven to become more.”
Olari hums approvingly, and our conversation falls off into a series of blows and blocks as he tries to land a strike. I keep my silence patiently, waiting for another good opening to throw in a telling remark, not wanting to come on suspiciously strong.
As we circle each other, Olari eases slightly back. “You’ve arrived in the middle of a rather chaotic time here at the college. You mustn’t have been expecting to deal with daimon crashing balls and toppling buildings.”
Interesting that he’s bringing that subject up. I shrug, debating my answer.
The scourge sorcerers were obviously in favor of chaos, but Wendos didn’t make it clear exactly why. Only that he thought somehow it’d set the world “right.”
Julita pipes up with a hushed suggestion, as if she’s afraid Olari might overhear.My brother and Wendos sometimes talked about how violence and pain are just the natural order of things.
That does sound like the sort of sentiment scourge sorcerers would appreciate—to justify the paintheyinflict.
I pick my words carefully. “There’s so much chaos in the rest of the world, I guess it’s more surprising that the spirit-creatures don’t act out more often themselves. Although I’m sure that’s not much comfort to those who were harmed.”
Olari lets out a faint snort. “Indeed.”
He swipes at my jaw and then my ribs, managing to knock my side just slightly before I dart away. I answer with a sweep of my foot against his calf that would have sent him stumbling if he wasn’t so sturdy.
Maybe I can pick his brain for a hint about what the scourge sorcerers’ current plans are, if he’s involved with them. “The daimon have settled down quite a bit since the day they broke the Quadring. The clerics the king sent in must be very skilled.”
Will the remark sting his pride and prompt an insinuation about other reasons the spirit-creatures seem to have backed off?
Olari chuckles, his breath only a little rough with exertion. “I suppose we’ll see.” He attempts another strike. “There’s been a lot of speculation going around about why the daimon were so agitated to begin with.”
He leaves that open-ended comment hanging. Apprehension prickles through my nerves with a deeper certainty.
He didn’t give any clues with his vague statement about the daimon’s current behavior, but I’m increasingly sure this guy is on Torstem’s side. He’s adding chatter to our sparring match specifically so he can evaluate what I say on topics of particular interest to the conspirators.
It was two days ago that Stavros and I staged our argument for the law professor’s benefit. Plenty of time for him to order an underling to feel me out further.
I don’t need Julita’s help to figure out the best response this time. Wendos obviously wasn’t happy with the way things are being run in Silana, and most of the running is done by the king.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the scourge sorcerers started the rumor I’m about to repeat.
“Some people are saying the daimon must be upset with the royal family. That’s the only real theory I’ve heard.” I rub my hand across my mouth as if nervous about saying too much. “I don’t know what exactly they’re upset about, though.”
Torstem wouldn’t want to recruit someone foolhardy enough to shoot her mouth off without concern for the consequences. I can give the impression that I think the theory is plausible without openly supporting it.
As I throw another punch, Olari laughs. “I’ve heard that claim too. Although sometimes I think maybe they’re just tired of getting stuck with nothing but bits of cast-off food for offerings and they’re rallying for something more.”
I’m not sure the remark would sound so ominous if I didn’t see the obvious parallel to the scourge sorcerers’ bid for power. As it is, my skin crawls.
“I suppose we all can’t help wanting more than we have from time to time,” I say mildly, just as the bell for the hour starts ringing.
Stavros motions to his students, his metal prosthetic flashing in the sunlight. “You know what that means. Off to the showers, the lot of you. I won’t be held responsible for any sweat-stink in your next classes.”
I restrain myself from rolling my eyes at the tongue-in-cheek order and turn to find an unexpected gaze on me.
The woman who’s watching me from several paces away isn’t even part of the military division. Petra was one of Julita’s frequent classmates over on the leadership side. But she’s dropped in on occasional combat and strategy classes before.
My ghostly passenger informed me that she’s a distant relative of the queen’s. She definitely looks more like Queen Ishild’s side of the family than the king’s, with olive-toned skin and features more elegantly proportioned than the imposing nose and jutting chin of the Melchiorek line.
Her dark gaze flicks from me to Olari with unsettling intensity. Then she pivots on her heel with a swish of her straight black hair.
What’s Petra in a stew about?Julita mutters.
A hollow forms in the pit of my stomach. I can make a few educated guesses.
