Darius’s quarters were simple, and if I didn’t already know that he lived here full time, I might have mistaken them for a temporary place—somewhere that someone who was just passing through might sleep. There were no pictures on the wall, no books on the bedside table, no clothing on the floor, no personal effects of any kind. Just a simple, crisply made bed near the window, a small nightstand holding a single candle, and a wardrobe across the room.
I made my way to the bed and collapsed, groaning. The bite from the Graplar was beginning to burn me alive from the inside out. Lying back on the bed, I hoped like hell that Darius wouldn’t be gone for too much longer.
At long last—I had no idea how much time had passed—the door swung open and Darius entered, closing it behind him once again, sealing us both inside. Alone. Together. He turned to face me, and then moved his gaze down my body—a little more slowly than I thought was necessary. When he spoke, his voice sounded vaguely husky. Or maybe it was just my imagination making it so. “Those leggings will have to come off.”
My eyes must have bugged out of my head, and I sat up, my pain briefly breaking. “Like hell they do!”
He stared at me blankly, as if he had no idea why I was making such a ruckus over taking my pants off in front of him. I stood my ground, but it felt like the ground was moving. Steadying myself against the wall, I said, “The leggings stay on.”
Sighing, Darius’s expression turned impatient once again. “Look, I can’t treat that bite properly while your clothes are in the way. So either take them off and let me help you or limp your way to the hospital wing and let the Master Healers give it a shot.”
My wound throbbed, as if in protest. Only I didn’t think it was protesting me. “Give it a shot? You act like they don’t know what they’re doing.”
He shrugged. “They don’t. Not entirely. Not when it comes to Graplar bites. I suspect that’s largely because they’ve never been bitten before.”
“And you have?” I wasn’t sure why I’d asked. Of course he’d been bitten. He was a warrior. Even warriors get bitten.
“More times than I care to count. And I’ve treated every wound myself, healing twice as fast as those treated by Master Healers, and with far less scarring.” Meeting my eyes again, he said, “Are you going to take your pants off or what?”
I snorted. “Turn around.”
Rolling his eyes slightly, he turned around, but not because of my desire for privacy. Instead, he started rummaging through a small cupboard for various herbs and creams. Crushing three of the herbs together with a mortar and pestle, he added two different creams—one a sickly yellow color, the other bright white—and scooped most the concoction into a small, lidded jar. The rest he carried over to me. Luckily, I’d managed to sit on the bed and cover up all the important bits with the blanket. Darius’s blanket. It was baby soft against my skin.
On his way across the room, he picked up a desk chair and placed it directly in front of me. Once he sat on it, he reached for the blanket. I drew back, hesitant. Maybe it was the poison coursing through my blood, but I was feeling more than a little paranoid at the moment. With a comforting glance, Darius reached out and moved the blanket just an inch higher, so he could get a good look at my wound. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t look at it, but couldn’t resist the urge. Though the Graplar had just barely nipped me, I could make out its teeth marks in my skin. The gash spread across the top of my thigh, its edges an ugly burgundy, pus already oozing from within. I swooned, and Darius spoke sharply, but not without concern. “Don’t give into it. If you let the fever take you, the venom will work its magic even faster. Stay focused. Stay with me.”
It was almost an impossible thing to do, to stay focused, to stay in the here and now when my world was spinning and turning upside down, but I held on, nodding my promise to him, hoping that he really knew what he was doing. As if the pain wasn’t bad enough, a slight burning sensation had started at the center of the bite, spreading quickly to its outer edges and continuing down my leg. As it moved, it tightened, squeezing me in its grasp.
“Kaya. Look at me.”
I obliged, but it was hard to see him. The edges of my world were quickly blurring.
His voice was calm and hushed, but kind. Kind like I had never heard it before. “This is going to hurt like hell, but I promise you that before I even finish applying the salve, you’ll start feeling better, okay?”
I may have nodded—it was hard to tell what I was doing, other than being wrapped so tightly in that horrible, dizzying, burning pain. Pain that brightened considerably in a white heat when Darius first dabbed a glob of salve onto my open wound. Crying out, I pulled away, but he caught my arm with his free hand and held me still. “Just a few moments. You’ll feel right as rain. I swear.”
He dabbed on a bit more of the mixture as gently as he could, then began to smear it lightly over the bite. Tears coated my cheeks, but I couldn’t find my voice. The pain was so intense, it seemed there was no escape from it. I couldn’t see Darius anymore, and when he spoke, I couldn’t make out what he was saying. My body was starting to shake, and I got the feeling I was falling without end in sight.
Then, slowly, my world came into focus once again. The pain was still there, but bearable, eased by the cooling sensation of Darius’s magical mixture. I dried my tears on my sleeve, then focused my eyes on Darius, who was moving his fingers over my injury with the care and grace of a surgeon. “I’ll stitch it closed, but not yet. Let’s get the infection out first. Could take a few days. Feeling any better?”
“Much.” I nodded, my voice hoarse—had I been screaming? My throat was burning.
He moved his fingers from the pestle back to my bite, dabbing tiny amounts of the salve onto the edges of the wound that hadn’t yet been treated. My pain faded away and a strange silence settled between us. It wasn’t awkward. Just…strange.
Beyond the scent of the salve, I could smell something else. Something that reminded me of wild, wooded places. With surprise, I realized that the scent was coming from my host. Not a shock—Darius seemed to live for the outdoors. It was a pleasant smell, and reminded me of home, of walks in the forest and camping near the river. I sighed, relaxing back on the bed. Darius glanced up at me and I managed a small smile. My throat was raw when I said, “You remind me of home.”
His fingers slowed as they dipped into the pestle once again, his eyes still on mine. “In what way?”
Shrugging, I said, “You smell like the woods. Like wind and rain. It’s…nice.”
“Kaya…” His tone was something I barely comprehended. It was soft and wondering, unlike the man I knew Darius to be. He kept his eyes on his work, his tone even and focused. “If you feel the need to come talk to me, at least come during the day when it’s somewhat safer, okay?”
I couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t say that I shouldn’t come, only that I should be more careful about it. Did that mean he’d hoped I come see him eventually? And just what was that about, anyway? He hated me. Didn’t he?
Darius sat the now empty pestle on the floor and examined his handiwork. As he did so, I dared a question. “So what’s it like, being the only Unskilled allowed on academy grounds?”
“It’s not so bad.” He shrugged and sat back in his chair, the most relaxed that I had ever seen him. “A little lonely, maybe. But I have to keep a respectable distance from the troops. It’s hard enough to earn their respect as an Unskilled. Even harder to keep that respect when they could excuse it with a label.”
“Sounds…” Only one word came to mind to describe his fate. A word that sank my heart like a stone in empathy. “…awful.”
“There are worse things.” He shrugged again, this time with just one shoulder, but there was something different about his movements this time. He’d meant for his actions to be taken as noncommittal, but I could see the tension in his body, the haunted, angry look in his eye. Darius was hurting, and I’d have bet that he would never tell anyone wh
y.
When he lifted his eyes to meet mine, I felt a spark of electricity. It was brief, but very, very real. Suddenly I was incredibly aware of his hand on my thigh, of the way he smelled, and the warmth coming off of his skin. Darius’s eyes moved slowly downward, lingering on my lips before returning to my gaze. He was so close, I could feel his breath on my cheek.
“I…” He began to speak, but paused, as if stopping himself from saying something that he shouldn’t. As he spoke again, he removed his hand from my leg, but slowly. Reluctantly. “I should really treat my wound before it gets infected.”
He moved across the room and opened a door there, stepping inside. After a moment, I heard water running. I sat there, half naked, waiting somewhat awkwardly, not knowing what to do exactly. The medication that he’d put on my injury smelled pleasant, filling my nose with hints of rose oil and something else. I sniffed it and called to Darius, “So what’s this ointment made out of, anyway?”
Darius snickered from the other room. “Trust me. You don’t want to know. In fact, you’re probably better off not knowing.”
I sniffed the cream again and shrugged. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was better off not knowing. “Have you shared this recipe with the Master Healers?”
“You honestly think they’d be open to learning new tricks from an Unskilled?” He sighed quietly, as if punctuating his statement. He had a valid point. For the most part, the Skilled grossly underestimated the intelligence levels of the Unskilled. “You should try to put some weight on that leg, Kaya. Walk around a bit, get the blood pumping. It’ll help speed up the healing process.”
The very thought of standing up made my knees feel weak and my legs tremble. But Darius seemed pretty confident in his caretaking abilities and medical knowledge, so I wasn’t about to argue with him. The faster I could heal, the faster I could walk without limping. Ever so carefully slipping my ruined leggings on up over my legs and easing them over my bandaged wound, I tossed the blanket to the side and braced myself for what I was certain was going to be an immense amount of pain.
Placing weight on my injured leg, I stood, ready to scream. But nothing happened. I took one step, then another. Apart from my muscles feeling a bit stiff, there was no pain at all. Darius was a miracle worker. I tried working the stiffness out by stretching, but it wasn’t happening, so I took Darius’s advice and began pacing the room. As I passed by the slightly open door that Darius had entered, I hesitated, biting my lip gently, berating myself for even being tempted to peek inside. But the part of my brain that’s responsible for the really stupid things that I do on occasion edged me forward, until I was looking at Darius standing in front of his bathroom mirror.
Shirtless.
His silver hair just barely touched the nape of his neck. His broad shoulders came down in a V to his slender waist. His lean chest was completely bare. The man was beautiful. And flawless. My heart rate picked up in a steady rhythm at the sight of him. He was reaching over his left shoulder with his right hand, turning so that he could see the bite on his back a bit better. He was dabbing cream on gently, completely unaware that I’d even approached.
Allowing myself another moment of secret glances, and promising myself that after just a few more seconds, I’d move stiffly back to my place on the bed, I dropped my eyes back to his chest as he relaxed his arm and dabbed his fingertips back into the jar on the counter. And there, on his left pectoral, I saw something that made me suck in my breath in shock. At the sound of my gasp, Darius shot his eyes to my image in the mirror. The kindness, the gentleness that had been in his eyes just a moment before was gone, replaced by absolute fury. His face reddened, his muscles flexed, and he roared, “GET OUT!”
He turned and shoved me through the room toward the door. As he pushed me outside, he tossed the jar of salve with me. It tumbled down the stairs as I was forced to exit. Once I was outside, Darius slammed the door. His anger may have successfully removed me from his quarters, but there was something that it wouldn’t change, something that I had seen on Darius’s chest, something that had shocked and amazed me into utter silence.
Darius had a Trace.
Which meant that he wasn’t an Unskilled at all. He was a Barron. And he’d been lying about it to everyone. But why?
The image of that small red crescent on his golden bronze skin was locked in the forefront of my mind as I leaned my forehead against the cool wood of the door. From the other side, I could hear him breathing. “Darius, I’m sorry.”
What I was sorry for, I wasn’t certain. For peeking in on him when I shouldn’t have, maybe. For discovering his secret, no. But I had to say something. He was upset, and it was all because of me.
The door rattled sharply, and I could only guess that he’d punched it out of frustration. I jumped back, and then narrowed a glare at the door. “Fine. Be that way.”
Making my way down the stairs, I moved through the still-dark courtyard to the dorms, marveling that the Graplar corpses and blood had already been cleaned up and cleared away. As I snuck inside and up the stairs, I fumed. It wasn’t my fault that he had a secret. It wasn’t my fault that he was a Barron. But he was mad at me. Why?
By the time I slipped into bed, my brain was overrun with conflicting thoughts. Half of them focused on the look in Darius’s eyes as he screamed at me to leave. The other half couldn’t forget the feeling of his breath on my cheek.
C H A P T E R
Fourteen
The ceiling turned from black to pink to gold, but still I stared at it, mulling over anything that had nothing to do with Darius. Filling my thoughts in particular was my botched interaction with the Graplar. My parents had been right all along about their descriptions—the ones that everyone in Kessler had passed on to one another as fairy tales. Graplars were huge, awful, ruthless monsters that could only be stopped by people with amazing strength, cunning, and skill—three things that I didn’t possess, but desperately wanted to. My father had taught me how to hold a katana, yes, but he’d never taken the time to teach me the art of wielding the delicate, dangerous weapon. Maybe he thought it was beyond my understanding. Or maybe he thought—hoped, even—that I’d never have use for that kind of knowledge. But he’d likely never imagined that I would end up attending Shadow Academy, or ever be exposed to Graplars at all. I didn’t blame him for not taking his lessons further with me, only wished that he had recognized in me my need to learn, and both my desire and my ability to take care of myself. Maybe he thought he was protecting me, in a way. Or maybe he thought he’d given me just enough information to be dangerous. Either way, I wanted to learn more, wanted to be able to face down a Graplar with both the confidence and skill required to take the thing out. But how was I supposed to learn how to fight and kill a Graplar in a school where Healers weren’t allowed to train?
The pillow sank under my head as I relaxed back into it with a single name captured at the front of my mind. Maddox. Maddox would train me. She didn’t exactly care about all the rules and Protocol and the division between Healers and Barrons. And she had absolutely zero respect for the prim and pampered life of a traditional Healer. Besides, she was my friend. She’d help me. She’d teach me everything I’d need to know about killing Graplars.
Confident in my decision to ask Maddox to train me in secret, against the headmaster’s wishes, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to slip into a deep slumber.
A burning sensation woke me hours later and I sat up in bed with a yelp. The colors all around me had blended into a sick stew and I could barely see, but I reached for the jar of salve on my nightstand anyway. Misjudging the distance, I tumbled over the edge. It felt like I fell for hours. The fever had me now. I knew that much. After a moment, a day, a year—I had no idea how long it had been—I heard Maddox’s voice in the distance. There were no words, just concerned tones, and I wasn’t sure that I could explain to her what had happened to me. After a long time, the darkness found me, and I was grateful for it. I slept. Or maybe I died. Bu
t at least the pain had stopped for the moment.
When I awoke, I looked around. Maddox had brought me to the hospital wing. Sighing in relief, I looked down at my bandaged thigh. It burned like hell, but the pain was far more tolerable than it had been. Two jars sat on the silver tray next to my bed. One was full of gray goop. One was full of white cream. I wasn’t certain which the Master Healer had been applying to my wound, but my leg was feeling a bit better—though not at all as well as it had in Darius’s cabin. I laid there for a long while, thinking about the Graplars that had attacked, and wondering if Maddox would be as open to training me as I hoped.
The afternoon sun was stretching out across my bed. Sitting up, I stretched myself into full wakefulness, only stopping when the door to my hospital room opened and the Master Healer stepped inside. She was carrying a tray with her. On top of it was a clear jar filled with more of the gray goop, as well as a pitcher of water and a roll of fresh bandages. She set the tray on the small table, nudging aside the jar of white salve that looked suspiciously like the one Darius had given me. A quiet sigh of relief escaped my lungs. Explaining just why and how a Barron had concocted a potion for my wound—a Barron who wasn’t known to be a Barron, at that—was a bit more conversation than I was prepared to have at the moment.
“You’re looking well this morning, Kaya. How are you feeling?” Her voice was pleasant, but her face seemed pinched, almost angry. It was difficult to judge her emotions.
“Much better. My leg still stings, but I think I can stand.” I pulled back the covers, revealing my bandaged thigh. After a moment, she nodded happily.