Page 34 of Power of Draken

Ainsley continues taking questions from the group, answering each with calm respect. As if all this is a normal way to train a military force and not a calculated manipulation of a tyrannical ruling class. No, the hostile force—Ainsley carefully avoids using the word civilian—won’t have a map of the waypoints. Yes, the cadets should expect to beinterrogated if captured. No, none of the waypoints are outside the wards.

That latter part is damn unfortunate.

Once the questions are finally finished, the commandant dismisses the formation to start getting ready. I stay where I am, though. I’ve learned her body language well enough by now to know when she wants me to stay behind.

“Grayson,” Ainsely orders, proving my instinct right. “My office.”

I fall into step behind the commandant, following her into the main building of the Spire and through the doors of the office where I’ve been more times in the past two years than I can track. Today, she barely waits for the door to click before walking to the chessboard she keeps on a side table. Whatever this is about is making her uncomfortable. Interesting.

I take my time joining her, taking the opportunity to scan her desk for any information on the next auric steel shipment. Unfortunately, everything is covered with exercise plans.

“Do you play?” Ainsley asks, motioning to the chessboard.

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Good.” Her hand hovers over the pieces until she picks one up and rolls it between her thumb and forefinger. “Then you must be familiar with this figure.”

“The king.”

“Indeed. It’s pathetically useless in assault or defense, yet it’s the one piece most vital to the entire game.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You have a piece like that under your command, Grayson. Don’t you?”

“The alchemist.”

“Very good.” The commandant throws the king back onto the board, her nose scrunching in disgust as it teeters precariously before settling. “Lexington is little better a warrior than this wooden piece, and yet the whole game still depends on her staying alive.”

“Agreed.” For once, I don’t even have to lie. This whole game does depend on Rowan. Just not in the way her mother imagines.

“Then you understand the importance of bringing Rowan back alive and capable of performing her magic. At any cost.” She turns her focus back to the board and resets the pieces into a starting position. “All cadets must check into three waypoints. Unless, of course, they die or lose their tag. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“If a cadet proves a liability to the larger war effort, a commander might decide to proactively confiscate the cadet’s tag,” I say with an easy calm I’ve spent decades cultivating. “The tagless cadet would unfortunately face the flogging post as result, but the pain there is temporary. Death is not. Did I get that right?”

The commandant’s focus stays on the chessboard. “It is important that the Spire remain impartial in all exercises. All cadets must be treated the same, with awards based on merit not bloodlines.”

“Of course, ma’am.” I know the drill. So long as the illusion of justice is maintained, the orders issued behind closed doors need have no boundaries. Does the commandant care about her daughter at all, I wonder, or is this all about power? Would she be issuing these orders if Rowan wasn’t an alchemist? For Rowan’s sake, I want to believe she would, but I don't think so.

Rowan matters to Commandant Ainsely because she is an alchemist.

Which happens to be the exact same reason she matters to me too.

The only difference—I’m willing to put in the bare effort to keep Rowan from having the skin flogged off her back in the name of justice—seems like a very small distinction in the grand scheme of things.

I’m as bad as the commandant.

But then, I’ve always been.

Chapter 18

Logan

"The rabbit is scared," I say to Kyrian as everyone gathers at the main courtyard, milling about in stress-filled chaos in preparation for departure. Rowan is a few paces away from us, speaking with Ellie and tucking the same stray copper lock behind her ear every few seconds. It’s her tell, appearing whenever she needs an outlet for emotions. Frustration in the sparring ring; discomfort whenever Chambers gets close; adorable embarrassment when my touch, designed to drive Kai mad, rouses her body despite her best intentions.

But today, she’s doing it because she’s afraid. And I don’t like it.

"They're all scared," Kyrian replies. "You can smell it."

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