Page 23 of Great Falls Rogue
“Was there something you wished to say, Cadet?” Han inquires.
River shoots me a look that makes any retort dry up immediately, unease swirling in my stomach.Tread carefully,his gaze says. If River is nervous, I’d be a fool not to listen.
“No, sir.” I answer quickly, pulling the reins of my self-control tighter still and staying silent for the rest of the brief visit.
“What do you make of Han and the Prowess plan?” I ask River a few minutes later, once the study is free of visitors but for their lingering scent. A sickly musk for Sage and something sharper, like cayenne pepper, that crept from Han’s muscled body.
“My opinion on the matter was not sought.” River motions for me to bring out my books, ready to return to the fascinating calculations of ditch digging. Any sign of worry in his sculpted face is gone, back behind that thick, impenetrable curtain. “Neither was yours.”
“Doesn’t stop us from having one.”
“It stops me from discussing it with you,” River says, that stern voice returning, storm-gray eyes unreadable. No matter what I do, each hour since the forbidden kiss on Ostera night is turning the male more and more formal the moment we stray from academics, his inner sense of student-teacher etiquette on high alert. I almost wish it didn’t happen, for the wall it’s erected between us—but then I remember his warm, velvet lips on mine, the press of his hard body, the soft gravel of his voice in my ear as he led me through the dance steps, and I wish I could spend another eternity in that moment.
Shade, on the other hand, has gone missing altogether since our moment in the woods, having sent a note of intention to spend several liberty days off Academy grounds. My chest clenches with the certainty that my male now prowls the woods, desperately searching out a mate who isn’t there. I know how he feels, which only makes my worry for him greater. Without Arisha and Gavriel finding me when I first arrived here, giving me a sense of purpose with our nightly missions, I might have gone mad with loneliness weeks ago.
My heart squeezes painfully. One male is looking in the wrong place and the other is two mere steps away but refusing to look at all.
“Leralynn.” River’s sharp snap jerks me from my thoughts. Adjusting the rolled-up sleeves to perfectly creased perfection, he throws a pointed look at my empty slate. Right. Latrine ditches and soldier halves.
This time we manage a full half hour without interruption, River leaving me to struggle through a set of calculations while he catches up on his own work. When the next set of approaching footsteps sounds, however, River barely has time to jump out of the way of the swinging door, much less properly greet the liveried visitor.
“Sir!” Rabbit, having streaked in like a small dust vortex, smashes into River’s thigh and bounces off. Panting, the boy jabs toward the window, his narrow chest heaving. “A brawl. A real big brawl,” he says between gasping breaths. “With blood and shouting and everything. By the guards’ barracks.”
“I don’t imagine a brawl by the guards’ barracks is going to last very long, Rabbit.” River’s voice is battle calm as he shrugs into his red wool coat, fastening the buttons with precise, economical motions. “Do you know which cadet chose such a brilliant location for a fight?”
“None, sir.” Rabbit shakes his head vigorously. “It’s Master Coal against a dozen of the guards themselves.”
3
Lera
Afaint humming has started in my head as I try to make sense of Rabbit’s words, River’s study growing distant.
“Stay here, Leralynn,” River orders. He takes one more heartbeat to hold my eyes, a heartbeat he can’t spare, just to press into me the importance of what he’s saying. “That isn’t a request.”
Knowing better than to argue, I keep my eyes trained on my studies until the sound of River’s and Rabbit’s steps fades from earshot. That settled, I rush down the stone steps and streak through the hedgerow separating the academic quarters from the training pitch. Worry for my male casts all thought of rules or repercussions aside, his name ricocheting through my mind with each whoosh of blood through my temples.Coal.Coal.Coal.
The sounds of fighting coming from the guards’ barracks at the base of the towering Academy wall pierce my immortal hearing, spurring my steps and thoughts. Coal makes no habit of fighting lesser warriors, not without provocation. And even then, his battles are swift and meaningful, not brawls.
Or at least that’s how it used to be.
“Stop!” a man shouts at me as I dart out of the hedgerow onto the edge of the wide grassy training yard. A half-dozen Academy guards are already spreading out to keep curious cadets away from the fray at the far end. Distantly, I can see a heaving mass of bodies in various states of dress—some shirtless and barefooted, some in full red uniform. Some wielding fists, others charging in with whatever they’d found at hand—from pitchforks to chair legs. It’s too thick to see Coal. “Get back to the dormitory right now.”
Right. Ducking back into the fragrant green corridor, I rush along the thin walkway, sunlight dappling down through lush overhanging branches. This time, I emerge on the other side of the patrol, near the riding ring at the top of the training yard. A nearby guard catches sight of me and lunges with a surprised shout, but I roll over my shoulder to clear his grasp. Cursing sounds behind me, but the guards have no time to chase a lone runner, not with a smattering of the Academy’s cadets coming out of the woodwork to see what all the fuss is about.
“Whoa there, lass.” Tye emerges suddenly from the corner of my vision and snatches me with the skill the guards lacked, his large lithe body swinging me in an easy circle. I curse and try to squirm free, but he holds fast to my upper arms. The male smells of pine and citrus and sweat, the wet patches on his sleeveless gray tunic speaking of active training. His hair is damp at the roots, a mess of fiery strands, and his green eyes are brilliant in the sunlight—and firm. Jerking his chin toward the barracks across from us, he shakes his head. “You don’t want to go anywhere near there. Trust me.”
“Yes, I do.” I squirm out of his hold successfully this time. “But feel free to return to twirling around the wooden bar if you don’t want to help.”
Cursing, Tye falls in step with me, jogging to the perimeter of the fight, which is partially obscured by a wall of observers now—guards, mostly, with a few instructors and stray cadets sprinkled into the mix. Over their heads, on the other side of the fray, I spot River walking away. “Where the bloody stars is he going?” Tye asks.
With a shrug, I push my way through the watching crowd and take bearings, all my fae senses on high alert. Itisa brawl. Shouting and a thick scent of fury fill the air, more and more men rushing in with whatever weapons they find underfoot. A rock. A piece of chair. Bare fists. In the center, Coal spins a wooden staff—which I think started its day as a broom handle. In spite of everything, Coal in battle is a breathtaking sight—his low blond bun gleaming in the sun, sleeveless black tunic revealing every flick and bulge of muscle in his arms and shoulders, beautiful, sharply carved face set in deadly concentration. His blue eyes glitter, cold as ice chips.
The wood in his hands twists quickly enough to appear a solid circle, one that has already done untold damage. I wince at the sight of a half-dozen men writhing on the ground, one with bone sticking clear out of a broken forearm and what seems to be paper stuffed into his mouth. The several sergeants shouting orders to stand down are drowned out by infuriated grunts and screams, the downed guardsmen’s friends rushing with vengeance-filled cries.
In contrast to the guards’ hot rage, Coal’s face is so cold and haunted that I am not sure the male knows where he is. As if having heard my question, the magic inside me stirs, flashing with images of shackles and despair and agony so vivid that my throat closes.
“Coal won’t stand down,” I tell Tye quickly. “Not unless there is no one left around to fight. I don’t know where the hell River went, but stopping the guards is the only option.”
