Anger whips up inside me so strong, I clench my fists and glare at Fallon with pure, undisguised venom.
Fallon’s eyes widen with delight. She turns her whole self toward me, one hand coming slowly to her hip, her grin broadening as she revels in both my rage and the whole world working in her favor. She stares me down with mounting glee, and I fear I will abandon all caution, break down and strike her cruel, self-satisfied face.
Is it worth it, Elloren? I warn myself. Getting kicked out of University for striking another Mage? Who will promptly cut you down with her Black Witch magic?
Instead, I turn on my heels and leave the room, Fallon’s cruel laughter sounding out behind me.
*
When I enter the kitchens, Fernyllia’s face is haggard with dark worry, and she gives a start at the sight of me.
Olilly is crying, her heaving back to me. Yvan, Bleddyn, Fernyllia and Iris are grouped around her, consoling her in low tones.
They look like they’ve all sustained a powerful blow.
Head down, I cross the room and set right to work peeling potatoes, stiff and self-conscious, sharply aware of their eyes on me as the room quiets.
I know how I appear to them in my black silks and white armband, the threat of me heightened. My very presence has always been a symbol of Gardnerian might. But now, dressed like this, I’m an extension of Vogel—the monster about to come after them all.
I look up and feel the full, ice-water shock of their hate.
Yvan takes in the brutal glares they’re all leveling in my direction, then turns to me, stricken, his expression pained but open. Wide-open.
And suddenly I’m wide-open to him as well, letting him see all of it—my fear and mounting desperation. My terrible isolation; my appearance reflecting nothing of my true heart.
We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment as the room around us fades. The kitchen workers, the iciness of their stares, the crackling fires of the ovens, all of it dissolves like fog. There’s only him.
Only us.
Olilly whimpers, distracting us both, rupturing our safe, protected bubble, the world rushing back in.
Iris is still glaring at me, her eyes flitting suspiciously to Yvan, then me and back to Yvan again as he pulls his eyes away from me and resumes comforting Olilly, his hand on the young woman’s shaking arm.
Iris whispers something in Yvan’s ear and gestures sharply in my direction. Yvan fleetingly meets my eyes, his face tensed with conflict.
Fernyllia speaks softly to Olilly in encouraging tones, and Yvan joins in.
“They won’t send you back,” I hear him say, his low voice resonating deep in me. “We’ll help you get out. Your sister, too.”
And then they all leave together, Iris being the last to exit. She shoots me a jarring look of hate, then steps out of the kitchen and pulls the back door shut with a slam.
*
My hands hurt when I finally leave my kitchen shift, my fingers sore from peeling so many potatoes, my chest a tight ball of despair. The sun has set, and night is firmly settled in the sky. The world is starless and dark as I move away from the lantern light by the kitchen’s back entrance.
I take a deep, steadying breath, the cold air bracing. I’m halfway across the small field at the kitchen’s back end, edged by a small stand of forest, the shadows tonight an inky, bottomless black, my steps dragging.
“Stay away from our men.”
I halt, heart speeding, and look toward the shadows, my eyes searching for the source of the vicious words.
I can just make Iris out in the dark, cloudy night. She’s leaning back against a tree trunk, arms confrontationally crossed, tall Bleddyn next to her, looking incensed.
My eyes dart toward a thinly populated path not far from here. Gauging whether or not Iris and Bleddyn can get away with attacking me again.
Iris stalks toward me, and I take a step back.
“I see the way you look at him,” she grinds out, getting up near my face.
A hot flush prickles all over my cheeks, my neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about...”
“You Roaches want to own everything,” Bleddyn sneers, her voice deep and throaty, her eyes narrowed to furious slits.
“He’s mine,” Iris insists, the anger cracking open to reveal a pained vulnerability, her lips trembling. She gathers herself, her mouth tightening into an angry line, the hatred in her glare flaring. “Go back to Lukas Grey.” She looks me over with disgust. “Where you belong. Stay away from Yvan.”
Every muscle in my body tenses, and my hands clench into fists as I let my fear fall away and glower at her openly.
Bleddyn spits out a laugh. “He doesn’t want her,” she sneers, looking me over with contempt. “How could he? With her pretending to be a Kelt one day and a Roach the next?” She blows a disdainful breath. “She doesn’t even know what skin she’s in.”
Iris looks to Bleddyn, vulnerable again, but infuriatingly heartened by her friend’s cruel words. Iris shoots me one last look of pure hostility, then walks off with Bleddyn, the Urisk girl hissing out, “Roach bitch!” as she passes.
*
Rafe and Trystan are in the hallway waiting for me when I return to the North Tower. They’re lit by lamplight, framed in black by the window behind them.
I swallow and fight back a swelling nausea as I take in their somber expressions, livid thoughts about Iris and Bleddyn whisked clear away.
Without comment, Rafe holds out a stiff, folded parchment, defiance in his eyes.
I unfold it, the sense of dread hardening in my gut.
Ancient One, no. It’s a notice of impending draft.
“It’s so quick,” I say, staring at the notice with disbelief. “Vogel only took power this morning.”
“It’s like he was ready for this,” Rafe says, his voice hard with suspicion.
“What?” I question, rattled. “You think Vogel knew this was coming? That our High Mage would die?”
Rafe’s dark stare doesn’t waver. “It makes you wonder. It’s so well planned.”
I remember Vogel’s terrible presence, the black void, the dead tree. I stare back at Rafe, alarm rising.
Trystan is uncharacteristically on edge, his eyes haunted. Looking aimlessly around the cold hallway, he takes a seat on the stone bench, his head dropping into his hands, his fingers clenching his hair.
“It’s a notice of impending draft,” I say, trying to reassure them both, trying to reassure myself. “The draft might not happen for a while.”
“This summer,” Trystan says, not lifting his head, his tone devoid of hope. “He’ll call us in this summer. There’s a weapons shipment that’s to go out just before that.”
My heart is hammering against my chest. I look up to Rafe. “Where would they send you?” I breathe.
Rafe spits out a bitter laugh, like the question is horribly ironic. “To the military base in Rothir.” His jaded grin falls away. “To wage war on the Lupines.”
I feel a sickening drop of my gut. “What will you do?” I ask.
Rafe bares his teeth. “I’ll use it for target practice.” He flicks the edge of the notice. “Right through the Mage Council Seal.” Defiant humor hardening to anger, Rafe looks toward the windows searchingly, then toward the door to my lodging. “Where’s Diana?” His voice is uncharacteristically brusque.
I gesture loosely toward the northern wilderness. “Somewhere in the wilds.”
His mouth set in a tight line, Rafe takes back the notice from me and hoists his bag.
“You’ll never find her—”
“I know where she goes,” he spits out, making for the door.
“What are you going to do?” I call after him, worried.
“Join the Lupines,” he growls before leaving, shutting the door behind him with a hard thud.
I stare after him. Force myself to take a steadying breath. Attempt to beat back the thin line of panic as Rafe’s heavy boot heels clomp down the stairs, the tower door slamming shut. Silence descends.
“They won’t take him in,” Trystan says with calm, terrible assurance.
Trystan’s voice is muted, his head still in his hands, fingers clutching at his hair in tight fists.