Chapter 2
Rowan
ou alright, Ro?” Collin gives my hand a quick squeeze as Spire East’s
third year cadets assemble on the main courtyard for first formation,
the two seas of red and black uniforms touching in the middle. Once
squads are assigned, enchanters and combat cadets will be mixed, but for
now neither side is going out of their way to meet the other after two years
of training apart. Collin gives the black uniforms of combat cadets a quick
envious glance, then returns his attention to me. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine.” I pull my red enchanter jacket down to get rid of nonexistent wrinkles and lift my head, lest the others smell blood in the water.
Really though, my stomach is rolling with my mother’s warning about
Grayson. For all the good that worrying is going to do me.
“You don’t look fine.” The lift in Collin’s brows says that sees right
through my horseshit. Which is fair, since we’ve known each other for
years, owing to our families’ standings. More importantly, he’s helped me
through more dizzy spells and migraines than I can count. I still don’t
understand why a man as popular and a perfectionist like Collin would care
about someone as damaged as me, but he does. Enough to court me. To
have pushed us from friends to lovers.
My getting together with Collin is the only thing I’ve done in the past
two years that my mother actually approves of.
“I’m not ill,” I reassure him, returning the squeeze. “Just nervous.
Fusion year is supposed to be brutal. Like people getting hurt and killed
brutal.” And that’s without the commandant telling the incoming
commander to fix your deficiencies.
Collin steps closer, his fingers brushing along my chin possessively.
“Why did the commandant call you in?”
I look away, my gaze trailing over the stone arches and spires
surrounding the courtyard, the academy’s banners snapping in the brisk
wind. Trust Collin to notice everything, even with a hundred other things
vying for his attention this morning.
“Tell me,” Collin orders.
“They are putting Grayson in charge of our fusion year,” I say under my
breath, pulling away as my mother ascends the dais. Her powerful voice
carries over the parade grounds, bringing the hundred and twenty of us to
order. My gaze skids over the black uniforms on the other side of the field,
as if I could read their name ribbons from here to figure out who he might
be. “And I think my mother ordered him to fix me.”
Collin’s eyes widen. “Shit,” he says under his breath while my mother
launches into a speech we’ve heard in one way or another a hundred times
by now. Eryndor is special because we have powerful magic running in our
bloodlines and auric alloy that levels the playing field with the immortal
fae. They hate us for it. They want to wipe us off the continent. They want
humans to remain powerless. Eryndor is the front line of defense, not just
for ourselves, but for all humankind. And so on. Collin curses and drums
his hand on his thigh, a tell of his nerves. “That’s… not good. Grayson in
charge of the fusion year is not good for any of us.”
“You know him?”
“I know of him,” Collin says. “And I have it on good authority that he
gives zero fucks about anyone but his friends. All the effort I’ve put in, the
work, the high marks, they are going to count for nothing with him in
charge.”
“Horseshit,” I assure him.
“You know what I heard Grayson said about enchanters? That we are
like potted plants, useful to have on hand when needed but a pain in the ass
to keep alive and haul about otherwise.”
“The queen is an enchanter.”
“Do I look like I’m the queen?” Collin snaps.
I hold my hand out placatingly. “I know combat always snubs its nose at
enchanters, but you are different. A healer with top marks in combat
training? You are every commander’s dream. The squad leaders are going to
be fighting over you no matter what. If Grayson has anything but muscles
going for him, he’ll mark you for the asset you are.”
Collin gives me a tight, appreciative smile. It’s harder for enchanters to
get promoted and I know Collin was disappointed to not make the combat
track—but I’m telling him the truth. The fusion year, when the tracks
merge, is all about real field training. Within a few months, we’ll be going
beyond the wards—and then everyone will want a healer around.
Unlike me. I’m going to be an utter liability all year long.
“You really think all my work will count for something?” he asks,
giving me those large puppy dog eyes that he knows I can’t resist. Even if I
know he’s fishing for compliments.
“Absolutely. Grayson is irrelevant—your ratings speak for themselves. I
completely expect to see you at the top of the merit list at the end of the
year.” That means promotion, choice assignments, privileges that everyone
covets but only the few favored get.
“You are important too, Ro,” Collin says quickly. “I mean with your
alchemy. Without you, we’ve no chance against the fae and draken.”
“Without the auric alloy I make, you mean.” Alchemical magic might be
vital for Eryndor’s survival, but the container said magic comes in—me—is
anything but a source of pride to, well, anyone. I shift my weight to take the
pressure off my aching hip. I didn’t injure it—it just aches. Like my joints
do from time to time. Because… there is no because. It’s just the way it is.
“Grayson is going to make my life hell.”
“You don’t actually know that the commandant told him to do that.”
“From what we know of him, does he need to be told?”
Collin gives me a sympathetic look. “It’s just one more year, Ro. One
final hurdle. Everyone knows that the minute you get your rank, you’ll be
pulled right back to an alchemy workshop at a Spire.”
“Because no one wants me at the front.”
“You don’t want you in the front,” he counters. “What does it matter if
other people agree? Plus, you want us stationed together after graduation,
don’t you?”
I nod. Collin is right. Even if I was a contender for the top of the merit
list—which I’m not—the only way for us to be stationed together is for one
person to follow the other’s lead. Collin has always wanted to rise through
the ranks and make a name for himself. I’ve always wanted everyone to
forget mine. If we graduate and get married like he wants us to, I would be
stationed close to him—most likely at the nearest large outpost or Spire.
Anywhere I can set up a workshop, make alloy, and not get myself killed.
There is a shift up front and curt applause from the formation as one of
the instructors steps forward to talk about the meticulous process leadership
went through to select this year’s cadet commander. Which is utter fiction.
The commander of the fusion year is always a top combat track cadet,
who’d spent the previous two years beating out the competition for the
chance to make other people’s lives miserable.
“Why do we choose a commander based on who can throw the best
punch or crank out the most push-ups?” I murmur to Collin. “I mean, does
that not seem like a stupid leadership quality to anyone else?”
He starts to laugh but gets control of his face in time for the instructor to
give the order I’ve been dreading.
“Cadet Commander Kai Grayson, you are hereby ordered to present
yourself and assume command of the forty seventh cohort of Spire East
Command.”
There is a momentary pause as a man detaches himself from the sea of
black uniforms and strides to the front of the formation with a predator’s
prowl that spurs my heart into a gallop. As he passes between the rows of
cadets, they straighten instinctively and seem to somehow move out of his
way, though no one breaks formation. Then he ascends the dais, and I get
my first clear look at Kai Grayson.
Grayson looks like he was bred for war, all lean muscle and coiled
power. Dirty blond hair, long enough that he has it tied back with a leather
thong, frames the defined lines of his jaw and intense blue eyes that hold all
the warmth of glacial ice. The brace of throwing knives he has strapped to
one thigh is a perfect match to the friendly demeanor of his. I don’t doubt he
has more blades hidden about him too—with that aura of leashed violence
that clings to him, he must.
Grayson surveys the assembled cadets, the movement stretching his
uniform taut across his chest and shoulders. I try not to stare, try to blend
into the anonymity of the formation. Maybe Collin is right and the
commandant said nothing to Grayson about me at all. Maybe he won’t give
a rat’s ass for anyone in enchanter red, much less an awkward alchemist
who stays out of his way. Grayson is the most dangerously attractive man I
have ever seen. He’ll have better things to occupy him than bother with the
likes of me.
I’ve just about convinced myself of all that, when Grayson’s gaze lands
right on my face and lingers there, a flash of recognition and then
evaluation.
Shit.
As I watch, Grayson reaches up to briefly brush a small pendant
hanging from his neck, his thumb pressing a dark ring with an iridescent
core. Shadows spread outward from around him, flaring for a moment
before he pulls them back. Great. Grayson isn’t just a honed warrior, he has
umbromancy in his blood too. Just… perfect.
And he is still staring at me, as if trying to commit my every flaw to
memory. Or maybe he just wants a good before image, to compare to the
after he thinks he can forge.
As quickly as it had found me, Grayson’s attention moves on, his hands
locking behind his back as he faces the instructors, his eyes once more cold
and remote. And yet I can still feel the intensity of his gaze boring into me
—and it makes heat flood every cell of my body.
