Page 22 of Unbound

Mireen follows my eyes, grinning conspiratorially. "I heard the three of them sleep together every night."

I raise an eyebrow. "All three?"

Mireen shrugs. "Sounds kind of fun, right?”

Part of me envies their confidence. Mostly, though, I just can't understand them. I'm too exhausted to even think about sex at the end of my days here. Maybe the release would be nice, but it's hardly on the top of my priority list. One thing is painfully clear already, though. The only thing the people in charge care about is that we show up to our classes and training on time. Between classes, first-year offerings are apparently free to fuck or kill amongst ourselves as much as we like.

"Yeah," the guy says, his voice barely carrying over the patter of the magical rain. "I think we should form some kind of team. I'm pretty sure I heard that Malakai guy and a few of his friends talking about something similar."

"A team?" one of the girls asks. "For what?"

"To protect ourselves," the guy hisses, glancing around nervously. The steam is thick enough that we can only see them because of a torch behind, casting their figures in silhouettes. I don’t think they realize we’re in earshot.

"Malakai has killed the last two people he sparred with,” the guy continues. “And today, one of his buddies did the same. They're obviously trying to thin us out. We need to watch each other's backs."

My stomach turns. I'd witnessed one of those "accidents" myself yesterday—a sparring match that ended with a first-year water offering on the ground, gurgling as blood filled his lungs. The instructors had simply shaken their heads and called for someone to remove the body, as if they were asking for someone to clean up a spilled drink.

I turn to Mireen and see the tight set of her jaw. She's listening now, too, her eyes sharp despite the languid posture she maintains.

"Am I crazy, or is that not a terrible idea?" I whisper, keeping my voice low enough that it won't carry across the water. "Forming teams, I mean."

"I don't know," she admits, her voice equally quiet. A droplet of water slides down her temple. "But I don't like where an idea like that leads."

"I know. Forming teams sounds a lot like declaring war."

Mireen chews her lip. "We can at least watch each other's backs, even if we don't want to get involved, right?"

"Right." The part I don't say is how it won't matter if the rest of us decide to treat this like a war. All that matters is if one group of people does. If this Malakai guy is forging alliances, then he already declared war. The only question for us is whether we want to become participants or victims.

Her fingers tighten around mine beneath the water, and I feel the familiar, terrifying pull starting deep in my core. I jerk my hand away like I've been burned, splashing water between us. Mireen gives me a confused look, but I make a show of wincing. "Sorry. I think I may have tweaked something in my hand sparring yesterday. Still tender."

The last thing I need is to draw power from the one person who might actually have my back in this place. I'm still waiting for Bastian to bring that book and maybe reveal some answers about what the hell being unbound means.

After our shower, I change into a fresh offering uniform. We were all given matching white uniforms that make us stand out like sore thumbs. The older students all wear black with gold bars on their shoulders—one for each year they've survived in the academy.

I check the back of my left hand discreetly as I button my sleeve, making sure the disguise is holding. The silver threads beneath the false blue wave pattern shift slightly, as if responding to my attention. Thankfully, nobody ever looks too closely at the mark, or they would probably suspect something was wrong with it.

Our academic classes rotate throughout the week, and today is Military Tactics.

I join a group of other first-year offerings heading from the showers. The other affinities have some kind of bathing facilities, too, but I've heard the water showers are the envy of every affinity. The annoyed looks we get from other affinities as we emerge with wet hair add credence to the rumors.

We walk in a loose group of white-uniformed offerings through the halls of Confluence. I feel like sheep waiting for slaughter. I keep my eyes forward, focusing on where I'm going and not making eye contact with any passing upper-year students or even the first-year aspirants and legacies.

The corridors are wide and high-ceilinged, crafted from ancient stone that seems to absorb sound in a way that makes our footsteps echo ominously. Arcane symbols are carved into the walls at regular intervals, glowing faintly with stored power.

Most areas of the castle are, at least, well-lit and beautiful.

A beautiful place to die with the sunlight on my face. How wonderful.

The castle is large, but relatively simple to navigate. It's a three-story rectangle with one affinity tower at each corner and a large, central courtyard in the middle. Each section of the rectangle houses a different style of class or training. The northern section is for academics. The eastern section is dedicated to physical training, which is where we spar and exercise. The southern section is for channeling. The western section is the only one we haven't used yet, and my best guess is because it has to do with elemental tethers.

Every inch of this place is full of tapestries and relics that make it feel ancient, as if it has been standing since before time itself. The ghost of centuries of other primals in training feels like a thick presence everywhere I go, as if the screams of the dead and their blood lingers even now, reaching for us.

Military Tactics is the only class where first-year offerings, aspirants, and legacies all mix. It's a large lecture-hall style room and has more than enough space for every single first-year to sit at once.

Legacies sit at the very front of the room in comfortable, cushioned chairs.

Aspirants sit behind the legacies with a better view of the maps and chalkboards at the front of the class.

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