Page 46 of Great Falls Cadet
I stop listening, the simmering heat filling my veins giving way to a roar. This is war, the amulet’s attack the first shot fired. And I… I can’t fight it on my own—clearly—not without making things worse by several magnitudes. Gavriel won’t help either. Which leaves one single course of action: wait for reinforcement from Lunos, hold the line until help comes. Eventually, with no contact or results, someone in the Elders Council will decide to send a scout to check on us. And if not the Council, Autumn surely will.
I wish I had a way of getting in touch with Lunos, but I don’t, so I will make do. Being immortal, we’ve the time to wait—so long as I ensure we are all still here, alive and sane when help comes. So long as I don’t do more harm to the males than I’ve done already.
“Are you listening?” Gavriel demands, his voice rising. “You are the Protector, Lera. The least you can do is pay attention.”
My head snaps to him, the thoughts spinning in my mind finally stopping. Gavriel cares nothing for me or the males, for the fact that the five of us are shattering, each in our own way. And I’m done with him. With all of it. “No.” I meet the man’s eyes, my chin lifting. “I’m not your personal prophetic puppet.”
Gavriel rocks back on his heels, as if struck. “But the Protector—“
“I don’t care.” I step in front of Gavriel, cutting off the man’s path. My chest feels heavy, my nerves raw. If River were here, he’d probably be going over the wall come hell or high water. But he isn’t. I am. And the world is better—safer—without my meddling. That is a proven fact. “I don’t care about your prophesies, about the magic seeping into the mortal realm. I care aboutnoneof this. So leave. Me. Alone.”
For the first time since I’ve met Gavriel, the man’s self-assurance falters, the depth of his disappointment in me clear in his eyes. When I start walking, the librarian doesn’t call after me.
3
Lera
Pulling open the stable door, which slides smoothly on well-oiled rails, I inhale the familiar, wonderful scent of horse and hay. The Academy’s grand stables are the largest I’ve seen, with long rows of large stalls, an overhanging loft with hay, and a grain room for storing oats and feed. True to what I’d expect of a military academy, everything is kept in simple, gleaming order, the rafters and stalls built from a pale pine wood that’s been polished to a high sheen, not a speck of dirt or hay out of place. The hostler, who is standing to meet me, is much less welcoming, his heavy-lidded gray eyes saying exactly how he feels about having to climb from his bed just to hold a pitchfork out to me.
“This is your bloody punishment, not mine,” he mutters under his breath, thrusting the handle into my hand with more force than necessary. “Stalls are here. Horse shit is inside. Wheelbarrow is somewhere. If you’ve questions, figure them out yourself or ask the damn horses.”
Right. I’m near certain the man is sleep-talking and cringe as he nearly walks into the wall on his way out into the cold and toward his bed. You’d think the stable hands would be grateful for the assistance of a student made to muck stalls for several hours daily, but at this hour of the morning, all bets are off.
Closing the door behind him, I survey my battlefield, the pitchfork in my arms too heavy for my aching muscles. Curious heads of gorgeous horses hang out of their stalls, looking at me with a mix of curiosity and hope of an early breakfast. At the end of the aisle, I see a gorgeous gray stallion standing on the crossties, a tall and equally gorgeous young woman rubbing down the horse’s coat. From the looks of it, the pair were out exercising. I blink. Rub my eyes. “Katita?”
The princess turns to scowl at me. “What are you doing here?”
I raise my pitchfork in answer. “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t like riffraff touching my things.” Unclipping the stallion, she walks him into a large corner stall and adds water to his bucket before closing the door. “Keep your hands off my horse,” she says, striding past me to the exit. “Don’t exercise him, don’t brush him, don’t bloody look at him.” Stopping with her finger on the handle, she turns, blond hair swinging in a perfect arc, blue-green eyes flashing. “Actually, that goes for everything that is mine. Stay away.”
Right. I wait for the door to close behind Katita before shaking my head. I remember Katita’s cold eyes on me in Shade’s office yesterday as she ushered in Tye, and I think I know what “everything” she’s talking about. In the stall beside me, Coal’s stallion, Czar, glares at me, clearly relaying that trampling me into the ground would be his preferred way of spending the morning.
“Get in line,” I mutter, reaching into my pocket. Empty. I’ve not been to the dining hall and thus have apples neither for the horses nor myself. Walking to the other side of the aisle, I burrow my face in my mare Sprite’s neck.
Sprite snorts softly, her breath tickling my skin. At least someone here remembers me.
“Let’s get your stall cleaned, girl.” I reach for the lead rope hanging at the perfect height for someone a head taller than me—and yelp like a cat with a stepped-on tail. If I thought reachingdownto pull my boots on this morning was difficult, reachinguptoward a hook is damn near impossible.
“Good stars, lass, what are you doing?” Tye’s voice, coupled with the soft whisper of the opening door, jerks me around.
Tye stands in front of the door, slid closed once again, studying me with a feline mischief in his emerald eyes that sends a wave of heat through my body. Even in the barn’s dim morning light, the male’s tall, muscular body, sharply angled features, and thick floppy red hair have an ethereal beauty that makes my head spin. Mine and everyone else’s at the Academy—I’m certain Katita has the male listed on her property inventory.
“Have ye swallowed a stick?” Tye asks in his low, lilting drawl. Dressed in a tighter version of the Academy’s training grays, Tye moves with a stiffness few but I and the males would ever notice behind the well-rehearsed swagger. The memory of his bruised back—a whipping from River for sneaking out of the Academy with me—makes my jaw clench.
Theonedamn thing you need to do in order to not make things worse, Lera. That includes not pitting the males against one another.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Tye.
Tye winks at me. “Looking for something I desperately need.”
My skin heats, but I step back. I swear I can see through the thin fabric of Tye’s shirt to the injured flesh beneath.Do no harm.“You’ve an odd notion of what you think you need.”
“No, I don’t think—I’m certain.” Tye points overhead to one of the sturdy horizontal beams crossing the aisle. “It’s one of the best bars in the place, outside the proper training grounds. Mother Shade won’t let me train on the outdoor setup because of the shoulder mishap, and I can’t afford to miss the morning. So, here we are.”
Hopping up to the bar, Tye hangs loosely for a moment before pulling himself up in a slow, controlled arc. Touching his chest to the bar, the male then lowers himself down again, his body just as taut and controlled as before. Up again. Down. Up, his bare arms intricate fields of flexing, twitching muscles, though he hardly seems to be straining.
Shaking off the hypnotizing perfection of Tye’s movement, I point my pitchfork toward his shoulder. “If Shade is so worried about your shoulder, why is he letting you train at all? It doesn’t seem like indoors should be any different from outdoors.”
